Just Brothers
by Tomas the Betrayer
Summary: Addition to the plot of Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver. The final vampire sibling awaits. Rather than pursuing their father Kain, Raziel moves to end the onus represented by Turel.
1. Prologue: Redux

**Prologue:** Redux

Leaping through the fire-ravaged doors, Raziel landed lightly on his feet in the furnace room. Momentarily uncertain, he hastily scanned the two ramps curving up and around the great incendiary gauge in the center of the hall, trying desperately to remember which one led to the gas release and which to the ignition lever.

Beneath him, the floor reverberated to the pounding tread of his rapidly approaching brother, Dumah.

Raziel shuddered. Having only recently liberated Dumah from the Limbo to which ancient human vampire hunters had murderously exiled his soul, Raziel had already felt the steel-hard claws of his typically ungrateful brother. Rejoined to his immortal flesh, Dumah had surprised the Soul Reaver of Fate with his own ability to feast upon a soul with the merest touch of his powerful talons. Up to this point Raziel had proceeded unchecked in his quest to destroy his vampiric siblings and their king-father, Kain. But this new foe posed a problem. His power amplified by the Void, Dumah had proven invulnerable to all attacks. Raziel's glyph magic had garnered no greater reaction than Dumah's amused contempt. Risking close contact to employ the deadly Soul Reaver, his efforts again proved futile, and he was rewarded by a soul-thirsty touch that robbed him of his spectral blade.

Now, weakened and hunted relentlessly on both the Spectral and Material planes, Raziel had sought outside assistance to aid his pursuits, and thus had lured Dumah to this room in the hopes of lighting a conflagration that would make the vampire behemoth yearn again for the flames of hell.

A loud roar of glee startled him as Dumah barreled around a corner and caught sight of his diminutive quarry. Galvanized by the imminent danger, Raziel suddenly recalled the room's layout clearly, and wasted no time in loping at full speed up the right-hand slope.

Dumah's massive body burst through the ruined portal and came to an abrupt halt. Towering a good fifteen feet in the air, he quickly took note of his surroundings, and a bloodthirsty grin touched his face as he realized that his weakling brother's desperate plight had blinded him to a pair of doors on the level to the left. _No place to run now, whelp_, he exulted. The vampire overlord started to move forward, then paused.  
Something nagged him about this room. Banished from the world of flesh and light for so long, his memory was slightly unclear. During the glorious chase of his depleted eldest sibling, Dumah had paid scant attention to the path Raziel's frantic scampering had led him on. But the doors into this lofty hall were twisted and melted, and now that he recalled, the corridor leading here had seemed unnaturally blackened. Was there something he was not seeing?

Suddenly it struck him. The path here, blasted and charred, as if by FIRE!! With a violent shock, Dumah realized that what he had assumed to be a panicked flight on Raziel's part had actually been a ploy to lead him here, to the furnace room that served to heat his castle in the frozen wastes. Where he could die.

Dumah swayed on his feet, dizzy for a moment. He cursed his vainglorious stupidity. His enhanced power had repulsed all assault, leaving him certain of his own indestructibility and strength. Excessive pride had doomed him once before to oblivion, and now it seemed history would repeat itself. To die again…

No! Dumah snarled inwardly. The vampire general brought himself under control. Thoughts of death were swept away as his determined brain quickly analyzed the situation. Raziel was already halfway to the gas-wheel. No time to run him down, so then what? Run to the other side and wait there? Bah, such a tactic was beneath him! Then his thoughts seized upon a solution, one that suited him perfectly. Once again he bared his fangs in a deadly grin.

Raziel was almost at the wheel. Below him, Dumah dropped to one knee and raised his arm high. _A reminder of who is the strongest of all, brother_, he smirked, and just as Raziel was clapping his claws around the wheel to turn it, Dumah clenched his fist and brought it thundering down on the floor.

Supernatural power radiated out in an earthquake that rocked the hall. Raziel froze. A numbing shock traveled through his body, causing his muscles to spasm and clench, leaching his strength out through the ground. Clamped to the wheel, he stood rigid as a statue, unable to move. "No," he croaked faintly, but that was all he was allowed.  
Dumah bellowed his laughter. Rising to his feet, sure of his victory, he sauntered casually up the ramp. Seeing his approach, Raziel began to strive desperately for control, but without success. Nothing seemed to be working, and try though he might, he remained immobile and helpless before his pitiless opponent.

The grizzly titan moved to stand next to his wretched elder, towering over him. He paused to enjoy the moment. It was a good one. Raziel was obviously struggling, but to no avail. There could be no doubt now as to who was truly mighty. Flush with power, Dumah's blazing red eyes caught a sidelong glimpse of those of his brother. Did they glow solely with anger, he mused, or was that also fear he saw there? The thought pleased him immensely, and he chuckled again, which caused Raziel to strive in utmost horror to master his unwilling body, his eyes scrunched tight in concentration.

Tiring of the scene, Dumah took a step back and cocked his massive arm for the deathblow. Mightiest vampire of all, he crowed inwardly, and soon even Kain would be forced to admit to this, before he died and rejoined his precious firstborn in the pit. Then, he, Dumah, would feast on the very soul of his god, and the world would belong to the Dumahim. He only hoped, on reflection, that he would not have to kill Kain twice to keep him down, as he had Raziel. Seized with amusement by his own cleverness, he decided to make this his parting shot, as it were. The dead silence of the hall was broken by Dumah's rumbling growl as he spoke the last words Raziel would ever hear.

"It seems to be always my duty to kill you, brother."

Raziel's eyes sprang open.

The world seemed to shrink.

_Brother_.

Memories resurfaced, memories of agony. The insane torment of the Abyss. Burning from outside and within, all personality and self erased by scorched flesh, drowned lungs screeching with silenced mindless wrath. The remembered desolation fired all his nerves with phantom pain, reliving the devastation as he had only fleetingly since his return to flesh. It came back in all its intensity. The core of his being was washed away again in a deluge of burning water. But something refused to leave with the rest, forcing itself beyond the torture, tied to one word at this moment.

_Brother_.

A fleeting glimpse filled his voided mind. During his incarceration, it had existed when all else was lost, receding below the depths of conscious thought upon his resurrection in the spirit world. Now it returned again, one of the last things he had seen before the end, a solitary glimpse up as he fell. The sight of the two lieutenants assigned the task of his death. His brothers' faces as they watched his descent. One was Dumah.

His brother.

His executioner.

_Betrayer!_

The fury took hold.

Riding a tidal wave of rage that obliterated all impediment, Raziel came back to himself, his body all his own again and alive with pain. Dumah's fist came sweeping down. Raziel's hands twisted the gas release savagely, his legs propelled him upward, and with a wild shriek, he was air-born.  
Dumah's heavy blow smashed the controls, too late. Shocked, he looked up to see Raziel, his ruined wings unfurled, gliding across the pit toward the ignition lever on the other side. His claws aimed a wild sweep at the retreating form but missed by scant inches.

He panicked. What now?! The wheel was destroyed, but the gas main was still active, he couldn't turn it off! If Raziel reached the switch then Dumah was dead. Dismayed, he stood frozen, rooted to the same spot where Raziel had previously stood. Inside his mind, a frightened voice spoke the words, _Not_ _again_.

Shaking his head furiously, Dumah desperately strove for clarity. Should he go after Raziel, or flee? Surely he could make it out of the room in time to save himself. Then he recalled the blackened stretch of corridor, charred hundreds of feet along its length, and he realized that the unleashed fury of this inferno would travel far and halt his flight before he could reach safety. And besides, he thought darkly, the mightiest vampire of all did not run!

Eyes locked on Raziel's winged form, Dumah realized there was only one solution. He would have to close the central grate before Raziel lit it. He could do it. His Spectral Constriction band could easily shut the mechanism. And then, with the danger passed and the gas controls destroyed, Raziel would be at his mercy. He would rend the life from his brother's body on this plane and the next, maybe even draw out the torture across time. Yes, time, that was what he needed. Time to reach the grate. Time to live, by all that's unholy, I don't want to die!! Dumah turned and raced down the ramp, raced for his life.

Above the hall, Raziel floated towards his goal. The ignition lever filled his vision, and he strained his emaciated form forward to gain every inch of distance. There was no longer fear, or doubt, or even self-pity. Only hatred, wild and unrestrained, pushed him on. The switch was a promise of revenge, its song throbbing in his pain-crazed mind. _Kill Dumah_, it panted. _Kill Dumah, kill him, die hard and be awake for it this time, you bastard!!_ It was no longer a question of could he do it. He would kill Dumah! This was the truth and he knew it!

Only four feet away from the edge of the rise, Raziel sank below the lip. A bestial snarl tore from deep within him. Suddenly releasing his wings, he reached forward and dug his talons deep into the wall, where he hung suspended. Behind him, Dumah had reached the floor and now hurled himself towards the grate. Raziel scrabbled madly upwards like a deranged spider. He had to kill Dumah, he had to!

Dumah was almost to the grate, almost there. He saw Raziel hanging on the wall. Exultation flooded his thoughts and spurred him on. He prepared to unwind the band. He was going to win. Almost there…

Raziel didn't see Dumah approaching, didn't care. His eyes were set on death and his body moved without conscious thought. The legs pushed out against the wall with all their strength, the arms pulled up. He shot up into the air over the edge, one hand snaked out to catch the handle. Twisting in midair, he landed with a thump on his feet facing out into the hall just as Dumah reached the grate.

Dumah saw this happen. He faltered. His racing steps slowed, then stopped. Suddenly subdued, the giant stood staring up at Raziel, taking in the tableau before him with utter disbelief. A strange numbness swept through him.

_But I am the strongest_, he thought dully.

His shocked brain seemed to record the next few moments slowly, but with perfect clarity. He watched the muscles in Raziel's arm flex. He saw the talons tighten, and the lever pull back. A loud click sounded from below him, heralding his doom. Sudden terror shattered his self-control, and he drew a deep breath, his last, to give voice to his lost soul, when the furnace room blew.

A maelstrom of flame struck Dumah from behind, accompanied by a thunderous detonation that was swiftly surpassed by his agonized roar. Searing fire engulfed him in endless pain. He burned. Every part of him burned. The breath in his lungs turned to flame, stifling his cries. The world around him was ablaze. His strength deserted him, and his mighty legs buckled. He smashed down to his knees, then pitched forward in a burning heap onto his face. The agony subsided, and from the corner of one seared eye, he caught a glimpse of his executioner, tall and strong, enveloped by fiery waves that did not touch him. Death came then, and Dumah was no more.

* * *

The fire had long abated, gone forever along with the master of this hall, but Raziel had not yet moved. He sat perched on the edge of the ramp, perfectly still. After consuming his brother's soul, he had watched dispassionately as the charred meat that was all which remained of a mighty warrior had crumbled and dissolved. Time passed without his notice.

He had spoken to the Elder. His unearthly overseer had urged him on to a confrontation with Kain. "No," Raziel had responded forcefully.  
The liquid tones of the Elder filled his being. Y_ou deny me, Raziel? Have not my gifts been to your benefit, demanding the obligation that you rid us both of the one who has engineered your downfall? And the world's?_

"Retribution upon Kain was only part of the motivation you played upon to enlist my efforts," Raziel whispered savagely. His head came up, and a terrible glint suffused his eyes. "There is one more."

For once, the Elder seemed nettled. _Such a task can wait, Raziel. You now have everything you need to breach the stronghold wherein lurks Kain. After which…_

"No!" Raziel interjected harshly. "I will have a clean slate before I face him. The very crime which thrust me into the sphere of your influence has yet to be fully redressed."

The memory resurfaced, his final one before the Abyss. Yes, that was right; there had been two of them there, watching him scream and die.

Raziel nodded silently. "I will leave no loose ends for Kain to play upon when we meet."

Silence reigned. Then, _Very well, Raziel._

With that, the Elder had gone.

Now, Raziel rose and stretched, the Soul Reaver carving a wicked path through the air. He brought the blade before his face, examining its twisting, hungry energy. The eerie glow bathed his face with a devil's cast, lending his eyes a disturbing radiance, and he spoke a single word.

"Turel."

He turned and strode purposefully from the hall.

_To be continued…_


	2. Ch1: Destiny

Leci waited, on her knees. She kept her head bowed obediently as she had been taught. The full splendor of such a communion was not to be observed by her unworthy eyes. Her place was on the ground.

Air rushed about her suddenly, and Leci tensed. Beside her, she could hear the priest Tawl inhale in shuddering ecstasy. Leci's eyes remained firmly fixed on the floor. In truth, she did not rightly fear the torture Tawl had promised her should she look up. Having experienced pain her entire 14 years of life, such a familiar threat could not have dissuaded her. No truly devout being would be cowed by his petty threats.

"Let it begin."

The voice came, the one that sent tingles up her spine. This was the reason that commanded her strict obedience to the edict of submission. Such an unearthly cadence, the voice of a higher being, was too much for her to immediately grasp. Later back in the dens she would recall every word over and over again with obsessive longing. But here and now there could be no such frivolities. She had to concentrate on the import of the beautiful melody so as not to miss a word of divine thought. This was more than any lowly creature should be allowed, and to see the form that could create such heavenly sounds would be sacrilege from one in her position.

"Why do you live?"

Leci tensed. Tawl had drilled her repeatedly for months on the proper responses to make, so as not to offend the questioner. But she had secretly made her own deliberations, and had come to an answer that no one had to teach her, the correct one.

Drawing a deep breath, she responded clearly, "I do not."

Tawl gasped in shock beside her, overcome by this unexpected rebellion against his authority.

Leci remained silent, breathlessly waiting to see if she had been guided truly. Seconds flitted away in silence. Then the voice spoke again.

"No?"

"No, master," Leci responded. Beside her Tawl choked with fury, aghast at her presumption, but she hurriedly continued nonetheless. "_You_ are alive. I merely exist, of as little consequence as dirt or rock. Like such objects, I might be used for the purposes of higher beings such as yourself. Only then would my existence have meaning. But I would still not be alive unless…"

Before she could finish, a booted foot slammed into her side. She toppled over to one side, gagging and sickened. Though expected, the attack was no less forceful and debilitating. Still she shut her eyes resolutely. She must not catch a glimpse of what was before her!

Tawl was speaking now in his horribly human voice. "This _thing_ will die, master," he whispered fiercely. "She shall be permitted to speak again only in screams, and I myself will surrender half my blood to replace what she was to have given."

No! Leci cried inwardly. Master, I beg you, take me!

A low beautiful chuckle stifled her silent protestations.

"Oh, you will surrender much more than that, human."

There was a muffled burst, like an inflated bladder exploding. Something hot spattered against Leci's face and hands, accompanied by a slithering thud of cloth and flesh striking the floor. She remained still.

"Rise up," the voice commanded. So soothing, it wrapped around her, dispelling the awareness of pain. Leci levered herself up to her knees again. She abased herself. When she opened her eyes, she glimpsed Tawl's corpse lying beside her. His head was missing, and there were bloody scraps scattered all about. Blood from his ruptured neck was pumping out to feed a pool that was creeping slowly towards her knees. Leci made no move to avoid it. This was divine justice she had been privy to!

The master's voice claimed all her attention again. "It seems you know your place far better than this one did."

Leci felt her heart pound at the compliment. "I am what God made me, master."

There was a slight hiss, and then the voice spoke in a strange tone, "Yes, aren't we all." For a moment Leci feared that she had offended him somehow, but then he continued. "And not all of us are capable of seizing the opportunity to be something more."

Previously unthinkable hope blossomed in her, and her heart began to pound at a dizzying rate. Was he saying…?

"But I think," the voice continued in a satisfied air, "that one day you will ascend to something greater."

Leci uttered a small cry. She trembled feverishly in forbidden bliss. She had passed! Now she would be initiated, offer up half her blood to join the blessed worshippers of the gods. She would survive it, she knew she must. Her dreams would soon be achieved. The implications were clear, that and so much more. For if what she read behind the honeyed words was correct, then perhaps, one day, she would truly live. To serve the gods, and then to be one with them. He had all but promised it to her!

"Or perhaps," a soft, cold voice broke in from behind her, "Her destiny is to die now."

It surprised Leci. Without thinking, she whirled around, her eyes came up. A man stood behind her. Wait, not a man: skin green and leathery, hair long and blazing white, and the face…

Was the face of God.

Tears welled up in Leci's eyes. Transported by religious bliss, she no longer heard the long dreamt-of voice, screaming now in ugly fury.

But she felt the taloned fist slam into her.

She flew through the air, riding a fervid wave of noise and pain like she had never known. She hit the wall with bone-crunching force, organs pierced by smashed bone and head cracked open against the stone. But none of that mattered.

Because for one moment, she had lived.

* * *

"Filth!" Turel shrieked, his fanged jaws slavering. "Contagion! Death was not sufficient!"

Brimming with indignation, he turned to his exalted guest. "Father, I…"

The look on Kain's face brought him up short.

Red irises bore into him with unblinking reproach, lip curled down slightly in a disapproving frown. The Master's very bearing seemed to radiate intense displeasure.

Turel cringed, his mouth opening and closing as he sought vainly for words to explain. He knew that it was not the human's indiscretion that stoked his father's wrath. It was only a beast, its name unknown, so no repudiation on that score. No, it was Turel's reaction, exaggerated and undignified, that brought him so low before the one being whose acceptance he craved more than anything. It was always thus. He was ever falling short of his father's expectations.

A lump rose in Turel's throat. He felt as if he would start sobbing at any moment. Please, Father, do not look at me that way, he wailed inwardly.

Kain's piercing eyes released Turel from their grip, traveling to one side to rest lightly on the vampire worshipper's corpse. He reflected for a moment, how this scene had served to illustrate the point he intended to make to his second eldest. Then he addressed his son in a soft, reflective tone. "One cannot escape one's destiny."

Turel seemed to shrink in upon himself. High, plaintive whimpering came from his throat, and he hung his head, ashamed.

Then Kain was standing beside him, and his strong claws gripped Turel's own. Looking down, Turel could not help but think that his talons, though physically larger, were pitifully outmatched by his father's. Before he could sink deeper into maudlin self-pity, Kain's voice pulled him back. "Heed my words, child," he spoke firmly but not harshly. "It falls now that you and I speak upon the destiny of our race. Forget any failings, and resume the stature that befits your position as my worthy son."

The words and the pressure of Kain's hands brought renewed strength to Turel. His head came up, his spine stiffened resolutely. The familiar sense of inadequacy was replaced by much-needed self-respect. He now felt able to meet his father's gaze, and promptly did so.

In the highest aerie of the Tower of Turel, the two oldest vampires on the planet gazed upon one another and began to speak of the fate of their world.

* * *

Within the desolate confines of the mammoth desert known as the Dry Maw, a solitary figure trudged resolutely across the dunes. All around this tiny form, the red dunes spread out in seemingly endless profusion. Mountains of sand collapsed and grew before the force of the howling gale, the continuous shriek of its passing giving voice to the dying planet that quivered in its death-throes. It seemed almost to wail in high torment for the myriad and fragile skin of living things that had once graced its face.

The lone traveler, intent upon other matters, paid the wind's imploring no heed.

At times, low rumblings shook the earth that his clawed feet passed over, further signs of the planet's torment. These slight tremblings did not disturb him, although each time he was reminded that yet greater seismic disruptions might lie in store for him. The landscape of this desert, in his memory a smooth ripple of red sands marked by protrusions of rocks the color of dried blood, was now scarred and defaced by gaping gorges of sundered stone. Mighty earthquakes of continent-shuddering force had torn the earth asunder here, adding a further impediment to his travels. At times he had been confronted by such monstrosities in his path, the other side sometimes lost to view. Not to be balked, he had spread his tattered wings and hurled himself over the side, relying upon the ever-present sirocco winds to carry him up and across. The thrust could not keep him aloft for long, and he had inevitably sunk into the depths of the pit, but always moving forward, eventually touching either the other side or the ruined floor of the bedrock. Whatever the case, he had persistently climbed out, the arachnid talents of his slain brother Zephon being put to tireless use. Upon reaching the top over which umber sands spilled like water, he would continue his trek toward the stronghold of his final sibling, his path never deviating.

Raziel, the Reaver of Souls, walked on down the road of revenge. Behind him, a storm began to grow.

* * *

"I have felt them all die, father," Turel spoke softly.

Kain stood before him, an immutable presence that seemed to fill the room, though he said not a word in reply.

"I have now felt all my brethren perish. _All_ of them." Turel emphasized this last so that the import would not be lost.

The God of Nosgoth made no sign of hearing him, but continued to scan the trappings of the throne room with a dispassionate eye.

Turel mustered his resolve to say now what he must.

"But _you_ have not lost all of your sons." He stopped and waited for a reaction.

Slowly, very slowly, Kain turned to look at Turel. Arms crossed over his chest, he regarded his son with a cold stare that made him quail. He obviously knew where this line of talk was headed.

Whereas before Turel might have been dissuaded from continuing, recent events now emboldened him beyond his previous timidity.

"Father, I alone remain willingly to serve you as I always have. No wish of yours has ever been met with less than my most supreme effort." Turel took a step closer to Kain, his voice taking on a meaningful whisper.

"And no task you set me has been left unfulfilled. To the very last detail."

The allusion was not lost upon Kain. For the briefest moment, his stormy eyes flickered to the walls of the cavernous chamber, whereupon were triumphantly displayed the ancient, crumbling banners of a clan that had not existed for close upon 900 years, whose very name was forbidden upon pain of execution. It was not wise to surpass God. Once again, Kain turned his attention to his vampiric second-born.

Turel continued in a steady tone. "There is no more time for rivalries or weaknesses. The order of the planet has been irrevocably changed again, by your will. But you have greater works in mind." Turel paused for a moment. Strange, he was not usually so direct with his parent. But Father had not cut him off so far, so perhaps further insistence would prove efficacious. He moved closer.

"We are not totally immured by Fate, our…" Turel hesitated, "_Your_ world being proof of that. It was your choice to bring about a paradise based upon worth and judgment, not destiny. Even before the evolution touched you, the greatest power was already yours, that being your recognition of the importance of individual choice."

"I did not come here for this, Turel," Kain spoke then, and his raspy voice swept away all Turel's clever arguments. "Come to your point."

Turel stood speechless. His eyes drifted to the floor. Was his ardor so quickly dimmed? Where were all his carefully prepared speeches and declarations? Desperate, he knew he must not lose this opportunity, for it would surely be his last. Jerking his head up, he met Kain's expectant gaze, and suddenly, without thinking, he spoke his heart.

"Please do not let me die."

Kain blinked, shocked.

He had thought himself prepared. Undisputed king of this world, he had lived for thousands of year with his will being absolute and total. Since the conception of his plan, he had been concerned with his own fears and doubts, but never, not once, with those of others. Only now, at his son's simple plea, did he realize how he had deceived himself.

Looking at Turel, Kain silently took in the physical changes his son had endured since last they had met. How long had that been? A year? A century? With deep sadness, Kain came to realize how much time he had been spending in the Cavern of the Chronoplast, observing and planning his own future course and that of every being on his world. Foreknowledge had endowed upon him acceptance of the sacrifice he had demanded from his children. In their final meetings with him, they had all reacted differently to his words. Melchiah had been morosely relieved at the prospect, while Zephon had tried to mask his secret treachery with sly words and fawning deprecation. Rahab had been proud, loyal Rahab, possessed of the self-assurance that Turel lacked, and which had elevated the Leviathan prince in Kain's eyes beyond the technicality of his rank as fourth-born. Dumah, of course, had said little, considering his being quite dead at the time and still not pleased with it.

But none of them had questioned him outright, or asked him for help as Turel did now. Kain had known that Turel might, yet he had felt assured that it would be of no consequence. But still, standing so close to his son, the last scion of the dynasty he himself had reared and guided, Kain felt an absurd need to apologize. For when all was said and done, he truly loved his people, his children, and he regretted his choices.

The moment passed. Such melancholy thoughts were not for him. And, he told himself resolutely, it was this very same love that urged him to stay the course no matter his misgivings. So it was that Kain raised his eyes to Turel's hopeful face and made his choice.

"I must."

* * *

Around Raziel now there was chaos and tumult. The sandstorm had built up and descended upon him with uncanny speed and strength. The seemingly harsh winds of before were as soft as a gentle breeze compared against the raging disorder that now mindlessly smashed into him from all sides. His visibility was limited to a few feet. The sky was no longer discernible from the ground, and there seemed to be as much sand as one as in the other. It sucked at his feet and raked along his skin, trying with every movement to hinder his advance. The gale blasted his puny form with all its strength.

But Raziel gave not an inch. His steps continued unabated, when suddenly something made him stop.

He knew that he was no longer alone.

Turning to one side, he stared grimly at the wall of twisting particles. Raziel studied their movement keenly, until his gleaming eyes detected something out of place, pushing against the will of the storm. A dark shape thrust its way towards him, and though its form was still indistinct, a pair of burning red eyes now regarded him hungrily.

Raziel flexed his right claw, and the Soul Reaver extended from his palm in a sinuous dance of twisting energy. A sharp his carried to his ears. From out of the darkness stepped a huge Turelim vampire. It was an adult, and plainly ravenous. Its massive body glided forward quickly until only a few paces separated them.

The immortal wraith dropped to a crouch, the Soul Reaver cocked and ready. In this furious storm, Glyph spells would be useless, their power dampened by roaring wind, sand, and darkness. He could always use the concealing tumult to make his escape, but this was not his intent. Here in this howling rupture of earth and sky, his soul burned with equal fury and bloodlust. An opportunity had presented itself and he was not about to lose it.

The Turelim paced forward. Driven by immense hunger, it was little more than a slavering beast. The sight of the Soul Reaver made no impact on its disordered brain. Prey was near and that was all that mattered. It hissed again at Raziel, and was answered by an eager snarl. At that, the Turelim sprang.

Raziel leapt nimbly to one side, and the vampire slammed into a sand dune with a heavy thud. It whirled about instantly, its claws seeking flesh to rip, but its target had darted past it on the left. As he did so, the Soul Reaver flicked out, slicing a long bloody gash along the vampire's outstretched arm.

The monster shrieked and stumbled quickly away from its opponent, to turn and regard him with bulging eyes. Pain had brought it some measure of awareness but had by no means dimmed its determination. Only a few feet away, Raziel stood in readiness. He slowly raised one hand and beckoned the beast to come again.

Enraged, the Turelim drew upon its telekinetic powers and fired a force projectile from its mouth. But the storm still raged, and before the attack was halfway to its target, it was absorbed and dissipated by sand and wind. Dimly, the Turelim realized that Raziel was laughing at it.

The vampire howled. Already its arm had healed, and now it sped forward, determined to rend its foe apart and gorge on its blood. Raziel met the attack head on. The two combatants engaged each other with furious abandon. The Turelim's massive shoulders drove its talons with lightning speed and force. Raziel dodged and swayed, the Soul Reaver striking with deadly precision at his nimble adversary. Both swift and powerful, they lunged and leapt through the all-encompassing storm, almost seeming to dance in the featureless landscape.

The dance ended abruptly. The Turelim feinted a swipe, expecting Raziel to slide back, and then lunged forward. Instead it found that its prey had copied its attack. Raziel flew through the air and crashed into the shocked Turelim. One foot planted against the monster's broad chest and propelled backwards. The inertia of the vampire's lunge sent Raziel soaring out in a superb somersault, and as he went, he extended the Soul Reaver behind him in a lethal arc.

The Turelim, staggering with blunted momentum, caught the tip of the energy blade right in the face. It split the creature's jaw and nose, grazing the brain as it exited through the forehead. Blood spurted out in a crimson spray. The Turelim stood frozen until the enormity of its injury reached its damaged brain. Then it roared with unadulterated pain.

Raziel landed in a crouch a few yards away. He paused, drinking in the vampire's agony. Then he dashed forward like a striking serpent.

The Turelim saw the attack coming. It spread its powerful arms wide and swept in, still shrieking its agony.

As the razor-sharp points streaked towards him, Raziel suddenly converted his lunge to a feet-first slide. The attack passed harmlessly above him. He skimmed on smooth sand through the Turelim's spread legs, and as he did so, he brought the Soul Reaver up. It sheared through the beast's groin and hips with a gory crunch of debilitating savagery.

The Turelim's screaming ended with a sudden high-pitched squeak. Its severed jaw hung open, and its tongue lolled out in two parts as it sank to the ground. Behind it Raziel had checked his slide. From his position still on the ground, he charged the Soul Reaver until it crackled with a force that surpassed the storm, and then he thrust its searing power through the beast's back. With a flash of power, the Turelim exploded, its charred remains hurtling through the sandy air.

Raziel rose to his feet. Before him the vampire's soul bobbed enticingly. He unwound his face wrap and sucked it in, crying out joyfully as new strength and energy surged through him. Intoxicated with battle victory, he roared a bloody challenge to the swirling sandstorm. Its shrieking cry seemed to answer him. In response, he raised his tattered wings and leapt into the air. The breath of the elemental titan buoyed him up into the sand-filled sky, and Raziel let it sweep him in its chaotic embrace towards his destiny.

* * *

Never in all his long life had Turel known such anger. Almost choking on it, he raised an accusing finger and whispered harshly, "You betray us!"

Kain's face took on a dangerous cast. "I do not recommend this course, Turel. Do not overestimate your worth."

"I am already dead to you, so it makes little difference, Father!" Turel spat vehemently. "You stand there proud and unconcerned as you arrange for the execution of another of your sons, only now my role is reversed!" Turel's eyes were bulging from his head, and his voice was contorted into a shrill shriek. "Now that damn ghoul is coming to murder me at your will, and all because your arrogance overcame your…!"

"ENOUGH!" Kain thundered. Furious, he clenched his fist, and a nimbus of purple lightning flared around it. With a cry of fear, Turel reared back and cowered in on himself, hiding his face with his hands.

For a moment they stood there, frozen. Then Kain relaxed, and the deadly energy faded. He turned and walked slowly past the cringing form towards his son's looming throne without sparing him a glance. There he seated himself, calm and in control as ever.

Turel uncurled his long arms and remained slumped, staring at the floor. He could not stand to meet his father's gaze as he spoke. "Please forgive me, Father. I beg you to reconsider your path. You cannot deprive your world of its masters and its god. What will become of our race? They need guidance now more than ever." He risked a quick glance at Kain, then continued softly. "So take _him_ with you wherever you intend, but leave me here to shepherd your kingdom. There will be no one now to resist me. Indeed, that part of your plan was fitting. The others had long outlasted their purpose. Now all five clans will be forced to look to one leader. No more divisions and clan territories. I will make them stronger and more powerful, so that when you return, you will find the clans willing and able to accept the new future that you bring with you."

Kain made no reply, and so finally Turel mustered the courage to look at his creator. At the sight of his Father's visage his hopes sank, but all the same he quickly tried to press his case.

"I can do it, Father! I am all the family you have left, the last son of your empire, and…"

"The empire is dead," Kain intoned in a terrible note of finality. He rose to his feet and fixed his offspring with a cold stare. "And do not delude yourself into thinking you are my final son."

Turel drew back with a start, as if his father had actually struck him.

With that, Kain began to fade slowly from view.

"Father!!" Turel cried out and thrust a pleading, needy claw forward. If this was their last parting, then he had to know!

"What does _he_ have that I do not?!"

Kain was almost gone from sight, but even so, Turel thought he saw a slight smile touch his father's lips. "Integrity, perhaps?" Then, "Goodbye, my son. You were born with a destiny. Choose to fulfill it with dignity."

And Kain vanished.

With a howl, Turel threw himself into the air.

"I will show you, Father!" he screamed. "I will kill him for good, and then _you_ will have no choice!"

"No choice but to accept _me_!"

His rage echoed throughout the Tower of Turel as he awaited the coming of his enemy.

* * *

The storm was dying.

He could feel it. Having exulted in the full furious testimony of its power, he could tell when it was beginning to weaken and pass. Now Raziel waited at the point where the storm had deposited him. It was as if the planet had sensed his will and had brought him to this spot, to a sculpted ridge at the heart of the Dry Maw that had withstood the test of time. It was a familiar place to him, a luxury area built to offer an excellent vista of the surrounding landscape, which boasted a spectacular view of Turel's prodigious monument to himself.

Now Raziel waited, claws digging with nervous anticipation into the stone on which he perched. Though he knew exactly where to proceed from here, he preferred a clear view of his destination, and whatever defenses might be present. Around him, the last dregs of the storm blew past his vantage point. Already he was beginning to discern some shape to his surroundings past the sandy veil. It would not be long now.

An hour passed.

Then two.

And then he saw it. To his right and left the skyline was now visible. Some hundreds of yards in front of him, great protrusions of red rock poked out of the desert, marking the beginning of the carved mountain retreat. Raziel strained forward, eagerly awaiting his first glimpse.

Far away, the sandstorm finally died. Shapes began to come clear.

"No," Raziel whispered.

He sprang to his feet.

Swinging about, his checked his location. Yes, this was correct, it had to be! No mistake here.

Raziel turned slowly and stared out across the desert.

At a long horizon unbroken by any impediment.

The Tower of Turel was gone.

_To be continued…_


	3. Ch2: Tower

Death is a mystery.

Even to the dead, Ariel reflected.

She did this often, brooding being one of the few human traits not torn from her by her murder and spectral imprisonment. In her youth, the elders had told her stories about how a person's life flashed before his eyes when he died. Ariel regretted that while this had not been the case for her, her afterlife was an image that haunted her perceptions constantly, though she no longer had eyes to see.

The irony would have made any other person laugh or weep, but she was incapable of either.

Ariel missed laughing.

In truth, she missed many things, these feelings being separate from her overpowering despair and remorse. She missed the sun, setting and rising in celestial glory, and she missed the birdsong that accompanied both events, though wonderfully different. This of course led to regret for the passing of music from the world. An inadvertent effect of the rise of the vampire-king Kain had been the obliteration of the concept of tonal expression, vampires having no facility for it and even less appreciation.

Ariel sometimes sang, but she did it solely to antagonize Kain.

It was not the same.

For centuries she had inhabited the place that had become the diseased heart of Kain's empire, and much of that time he had presided over his court there. At every clan meeting, every solitary episode of monarchial angst, she had been at his side, glaring reproachfully on the fringes of perception. Though existing on different planes, the last two Guardians of Balance were always aware of one another, though the latest took great pains to ignore his predecessor. Sometimes Ariel would curse him half-heartedly, or plead with him, but mainly she just languished miserably in silence, a ghost whose only purpose was to cause Kain grief.

Occasionally Ariel wondered whether there was an unrealized connection between her and her vampiric successor. When in her blackest moments, Ariel often found that Kain too suffered from a lingering miasma of the spirit. He would sit upon his claw-like throne, talons wrapped around the hilt of the Soul Reaver and eyes tightly shut, his face contorted in a terrible grimace by the unwelcome ruminations that were known only to him. Afterwards he would arise and stare purposefully at the cancerous Pillar of Balance, seeming to ponder some weighty decision. During these times unreasoning hope would blossom in Ariel, hope that Kain would renounce his delusions of godhood and redeem himself by making the sacrifice that would restore harmony to the world of Nosgoth.

It never came to pass, and eventually Ariel found that Kain and his Council were inhabiting the Sanctuary of the Clans less and less. She knew that they had retreated to their own private strongholds, the clan leaders to their territorial capitals and Kain to the Caverns of the Chronoplast. Though ridiculous as it might seem, Ariel felt oddly hurt at being so thoroughly abandoned. The least Kain could do was to sit in his self-aggrandizing temple and suffer alongside her. Ariel appreciated that after all she had experienced, she still retained some of her human foibles. Existing mainly in a dimension outside of time had at least given her a sort of dejected patience. Eventually, someone would come back to accompany her.

Much to her surprise, that someone turned out to be Kain's pride and joy, Raziel, a legend in two lifetimes. The betrayed vampire prince had unwittingly become the pawn of the two entities in all creation who most wanted to see Kain dead, but his peculiar sense of honor and justice seemed to make him empathize with Ariel more closely than the Elder, although considering the Elder, this was probably a given. She certainly had much more in common with the bereft soul.

So it was that the Reaver of Souls now sat and brooded darkly on the High Throne of the Hall of the Pillars, while from another realm, Ariel watched in long-suffering endurance.

Like father, like son, she thought to herself, and then quickly hoped that she was wrong.

Raziel was in no mood to draw comparisons between himself and anybody, least of all Kain.

He perched upon his Father's seat of power, a position many had wrongly believed him to covet in his former life. Such delusions had sprung more from their own power-madness than his. He had been loyal to his sire, devoted even. And what had been his reward? A form of execution reserved only for the most debased of his kind, and the total annihilation of his beautiful clan. Wrapped in self-pity, Raziel obsessed over the injustice of it all.

He had been revived for the purpose of expunging the living calamities that were his sire and kin. The thirst for retribution had spurred him on to victory against impossible odds, so that now four of the remaining vampire clans of Nosgoth had been permanently deprived of their ancient progenitors, Raziel's own brothers.

At first there had been no joy in it. His violent heritage had made him aptly suited for the task, but victory over Zephon, Melchiah, and Rahab had been necessary acts, not welcome ones. Fulfilling his obligation to the Elder and preparing himself to confront Kain required the ugly task of fratricide, but it was only when he fought and slew Dumah, one of the two elder siblings who had carried out Raziel's own fatal sentence, that he had taken satisfaction from the outcome. He had then been eager to reach the same conclusion for Turel, and had, against the express wishes of the Elder, embarked on his way towards his closest brother's lofty castle with the most vicious and eager intent.

But after weeks of travel, Raziel had arrived at Turel's abode only to find that the entire colossal structure had vanished without a trace.

At first he had assumed, quite logically, that the Tower had collapsed during one of the cataclysmic earthquakes that had afflicted Nosgoth continuously since his execution. Ensuing centuries would have seen it eventually swallowed up by the hungry sands of the Dry Maw. However, upon further exploration of the area, he had seen no evidence of any such terrestrial disturbance. Cursory diggings with telekinetic Glyph and gift had unearthed the surrounding bedrock without any glimpse of the broken structure. Even more perplexing than what he did not find was what he did. The great base of rock from which the Tower sprouted had been gutted by a huge indentation now filled with the desert sand. As far as Raziel could tell, it was as if some gigantic claw had descended from the heavens, scooped the fortress out of the ground, and carried it away to Kain-knew-where.

Further effort on his part was useless. Raziel knew that there were those on this world who could provide him with a quick explanation for this bewildering turn of events. Thus it was that he had eventually made his way back to Ariel's dwelling.

The imprisoned specter had been expecting his arrival, so when it came she allowed him to take the time to collect himself before broaching the matter. Raziel was obviously upset and it would therefore be best for him to decide when to begin. Waiting was no burden, if the long hoped-for restoration was the result.

Now Raziel stirred from his position. Slipping down off the throne, he moved to stand above the capped lip of the ancient Soul Well, where he knelt on one knee to begin the communion.

A soft blue mist seeped faintly from the seal. Crossing dimensions, it flowed over the barrier between life and death, working a miracle into reality. When Raziel looked up, Ariel hung before him.

"Greetings, bold Raziel," she whispered in a voice like the wind.

Raziel inclined his head respectfully. "My lady."

"I am pleased to offer you guidance for your insoluble dilemma."

The Reaver chuckled harshly. "I am glad to find myself so hospitably received," he said. "Since my refusal to cross swords with Kain again, I fear the Elder has been less than convivial towards my pursuits." His voice took on an acrimonious tone. "Indeed, he has refused any form of constructive parlay."

"We all have our own agendas, Raziel," Ariel murmured. "Driven by needs and hungers thwarted for centuries, you must understand that even such as we are not above tactics which might seem ignoble."

He grunted a noncommittal reply, and Ariel stared sadly at him. That includes me, Raziel, she thought to herself. Like Kain, Raziel was remarkably gifted but grievously limited. He did not always listen well enough. But Ariel was beyond regrets for her actions.

Raziel looked up expectantly. "Milady…"

Ariel smiled faintly. "Turel?"

His eyes glittered dangerously, and his claws flexed in anticipation. He nodded eagerly.

Ariel looked up beyond him, her vision seeming to pass through the walls of the chamber in which they resided. Absorbed in her deliberations, she floated in ghostly intensity.

Unnoticed for the moment, Raziel took the occasion to study his undead guide.

She must have been an astonishing woman when alive. Dead and held captive for millennia, her mind was still subtle and quick, and her dedication to a cause that must have seemed hopeless for so long was commendable. It was surely a disturbing obsession with her, but then, holed up in here, what else could she have had to dwell upon? Despite being crippled by despair she still retained strength. Raziel was all too familiar with prolonged suffering as a result of Kain's arrogance, and as such, he felt drawn to the former Guardian of Balance. He admired her finely crafted human features and sheen of shoulder-length hair. The single gray eye, though often hooded by defeat, could sometimes gleam with proud purpose. And the air of melancholy was compelling, drawing him closer to her in their shared misery. Raziel had to admit that he found her to be an alluring figure, the corpse-half of her face notwithstanding. He touched a claw to his concealing facewrap, conscious of the loss of half of his own face. It was eerie, how closely their sufferings resembled one another. Raziel shuddered. Would he too become a trapped spirit, searching hopelessly for redemption?

Suddenly Ariel's attention came back to Raziel, and he was again preoccupied with thoughts of revenge.

For a time they both gazed upon one another, neither saying a word. Then Ariel spoke.

"Your sibling's castle is no longer on Nosgoth. Go to the Valley of Dor and wait. There will you find the answer to this enigma, and return to me when you do."

* * *

From a position on a sheltered path in the mountains surrounding the Valley of Dor, Raziel scanned the expanse of the flat, dry landscape.

The first thing he had noticed upon breaching the mountain pass was the fortification planted in the center of the valley. A squat, circular structure, it boasted a wall some forty feet high with arrow slits and crenellations but strangely lacking any portal of entry where a well-worn track approached the perimeter. The buildings on the interior were well-constructed, domed affairs without windows, and the entire citadel was dominated by a cleared central area with three upraised points of curved stone that stood spaced wide apart in a triangular pattern.

It was undoubtedly a vampire structure, but it was populated by humans.

Raziel saw them now, patrolling the walls or scurrying hurriedly from one building to another. They seemed agitated, which was normal for humans in this age, living as they did under the vampire yoke. But even from this distance, Raziel's keen eyes could discern the green banners that adorned the walls, banners that boasted the clan symbol of Turel, and he knew that this enclave was inhabited by vampire worshippers.

It was now obvious to Raziel that Turel had assumed control of the human religion that worshipped Nosgoth's vampire legions. Their presence had been noticeably absent in the other clan leader's territories, save for the scattering in the Cathedral of Avernus. Lording over those benighted bootlickers was no doubt supremely satisfying for a control freak like Turel.

And yet Raziel was still perplexed. For someone as self-conscious as his brother, this structure was unsuitable to house him, and Raziel had seen only one or two Turelim present, hardly an appropriate honor guard. It did not seem the sort of grandiose habitation fit for the now second-strongest vampire after Kain. But his mark was upon it. Turel had always been a clever one, taking notice of events and opportunities that Raziel often overlooked. That was how he had come to find and create his Tower, seeing in the desert-bound mountain a perfect refuge and royal seat for his clan and kingdom. Raziel had often admired his brother's ingenuity. But what trick had Turel worked to make himself and his home disappear off of Nosgoth? The Tower of Turel was clearly nowhere to be found in this valley, so why had Ariel directed him here? And why did she tell him to wait? And where in all the hells was Turel?!

Bored after hours of inactivity, Raziel watched the temple-settlement. The humans still ran about frantically. What was all the commotion for? He could see no one approaching from any of the valley's entrances.

He was just starting to toy with the notion of abandoning Ariel's instructions and raiding the town when suddenly something dawned on him.

Had it just gotten much darker outside?

Raziel swiveled around and scanned the mountains. He was right, it was darker. He then returned his attention to the temple fort. No, everything there was as bright and unchanged as before. Puzzled, Raziel examined the rugged hills between the valley floor and the mountains. He blinked, surprised.

Was that the edge of a shadow?

Raziel stared at it incredulously. The vast shadow, or whatever it was, seemed to be drawing toward the vampire worshipper stronghold. This was beyond anything in his experience. He recalled in his vampire days of reading about a rare natural phenomenon called a solar eclipse, in which the moon passed before the sun, obscuring its light. But he had never seen one. Was that what was happening now? Raziel realized that it had been some time since he had looked at the sky, rendered uninteresting as it was by the uniform pall of gray-brown smog. Transferring his gaze up, he looked at it now.

His eyes widened at what he saw.

The eternal cloud cover that shielded Nosgoth from the sun was roiling and leaping madly, like a storm-tossed sea. Easily visible was a great shadow that accompanied this weird event and discolored the already drab clouds black. It took Raziel's stunned brain a few moments to realize that something huge was flying above the overcast sky.

Without warning the world got brighter. The thing, whatever it was, had passed over him, and its shadow had finally reached the town. All activity there had ceased save for the humans still patrolling the walls. Dimly, Raziel became aware of a high-pitched humming that had accompanied his thoughts unnoticed for some time. Overwhelmed by these unexplainable events, he could only stare in shock at the strange tableau.

Nothing in creation seemed to move.

The gargantuan discoloration now hung directly above the valley, dimming the light of the entire plain. Nosgoth's eternal silence was broken only by the soft drone.

The clouds began to twist upon themselves. Then they began to part.

A monstrous red fist thrust through the last shreds of vapor.

Raziel reeled back in shock.

More of the red shape followed, tapering out along its length, until finally the topmost portion came into view. Raziel's numb brain finally registered what his eyes were telling him.

Above the Valley of Dor, the laws of nature held no sway.

The Tower of Turel hung in the air.

Raziel could not believe it.

It was exactly as he remembered. The entire looming edifice was carved from the red granite of the Dry Maw, all drenched in the color of dried blood. The base of the structure was rough and uncarved, a huge ugly lump that finally explained the hole left behind in the Tower's former location. From this foundation, four sloping structures spaced at equidistant points grew out and up around the central shaft, which soared high above the other edifices. This namesake of the Tower of Turel reigned in unquestioned majesty over its four subservient members, its topmost reach serving as the throne room of the lord of the Turelim.

The steady drone began to increase in volume. From the base of the Tower, a ripple seemed to pass through the air, extending in a long column straight down until it touched the ground directly in the cleared center of the human town. Along that beam of force, shapes began to float earthward. Through the rippling distortion of the beam, Raziel recognized them as Turelim.

Around the temple plaza of the town the humans were clustered expectantly. As the Turelim vampires touched the earth they slumped down as if exhausted, and at this the humans rushed forward and transferred their gods to stretchers, whereupon the attendants gently carried their burdens into the windowless structures of the city.

When the last Turelim came in contact with the soil, the flotation beam retracted back into the Tower, and the entire colossal mountain fortress ascended again into the heavens, leaving the Reaver of Souls an uncomprehending spectator.

* * *

"How can this be?!" Raziel demanded harshly. "Tell me!"

Before him, Ariel floated in lanquid indifference, unperturbed by his belligerent manner.

"Your final brother, ever envious, has slipped the bonds of earth, much as you did once before in your life." She glanced meaningfully at his ruined wingstrips. Raziel flinched and unconsciously reached back to finger the tatters.

"Riding upon the wind is one thing," he snapped. "What I saw was a magic beyond anything I have ever known."

Ariel floated about him with a weary air. So like his father…

"Unknown only in magnitude, Raziel," she instructed him patiently. "You are well aware that Turel's descendants have evolved telekinetic powers which enable them to move objects without touching them. You yourself have inherited that talent from your first encounter with his spawn, but your knowledge of it is primitive compared to those who have cultivated and studied its power for centuries."

Ariel floated down until her face hovered inches away from Raziel's.

"What you saw was the combined effort of hundreds of Turelim vampires in the service of your brother's will."

Raziel stared at her earnest features, framed by softly undulating golden hair. Then he sank to his knees. "My God," he whispered.

He remained in this position for a few moments, and then looked up at his imperturbable companion.

"Why?"

Ariel turned away with a sigh. "Raziel, you are not quite as perceptive as you could be. Obviously you have never realized the full depth of the jealousy harbored by Kain's second-born son for his first. Your execution did nothing to stem the tide of competition and challenge that you served to represent to him. In the ensuing centuries, his insecurities and thwarted ambitions have become a venom to twist his mind and spirit." As Ariel spoke, Raziel listened in enraptured silence.

"This diseased soul," she continued, "has been further tormented by Kain's portentous insistence that you would return one day and slay him."

"He knew?" Raziel said, surprised. "But how…?"

"You will find the answers for yourself, in time," Ariel dismissed his question. "For now, you must accept that your once-closest sibling has become a fear-driven thrall, whose unsurpassed resentment and terror of you has led him to enslave a large portion of his race for the draining task of keeping his mountain retreat perpetually aloft and therefore out of your reach. Forever, he hopes."

Raziel still slumped on the floor, his claws resting limply in his lap and his disbelieving gaze riveted to the stone floor. "Turel?" he whispered. "He has done all this to avoid a confrontation with me? It is madness."

"Perhaps to you," Ariel replied. "But to him it is a matter of survival, and the thwarting of deserved justice."

Raziel made no response at first. Then he rose to his feet and looked to Ariel. In his eyes there was no evidence of hesitation. The time for that was past.

"My lady, I beseech your guidance. How might I gain entry to the flying tower and dispatch my wayward brother?"

A wan smile tugged at the corners of the long-dead sorceresses' lips. Rising up, she drifted backwards towards the Soul Well in preparation of the return to timelessness.

"Just as every newborn Turelim has the power to serve its master's mad dream," said Ariel, "so were you reborn with a gift all your own that will enable you to use that dream to see you safely inside your brother's fortress."

Ariel then shifted back to her spectral abode, but her final words lingered in the air.

"Go to Huron Range in the far south to next find your quarry. And hurry, Raziel. Time is not yet on your side."

* * *

Jehamiah, first lieutenant of the Turelim Pride, trudged ponderously up the winding stairs that led to the upper regions. He had been busy instructing the fledglings in combat tactics when a summons from on high had arrived. Jehamiah had then apprehensively abandoned his task and prepared for another unnerving conversation with his genius forbearer.

As he walked, he gazed in desultory fashion out past the column-topped guardrail of the stairwell that coiled around the gargantuan airshaft dominating Turel's central tower. How long had he been mounting and descending these steps in ready obedience to Turel's will? It had surely been centuries, even before the master conceived and executed his mind-boggling plan to elevate his home above the very clouds. Since that time, Jehamiah had seen little of the outside world, there being no windows or openings in the Tower save for the main portal in the shaft base, which was always kept telekinetically blocked except when discharging or accepting new recruits and the Atlas Legions. Turel was paranoid about someone sneaking in, although how they would even get up to any opening remained a mystery to his lieutenant.

At length Jehamiah's feet found the top of the stairwell, the heavy transparent crystal floor of the reception chamber that led to Turel's throne hall. There he greeted the two guards that manned the controls of the door. They bowed in reply, and then both took up their positions at the levers.

Jehamiah stared expectantly at the great metal portal a few feet above his head in the ceiling. As each vampire guardian successively grasped and pulled a lever, mechanisms in the walls began to click and rumble. The metal shield started to iris open, and beneath Jehamiah's feet the crystal vibrated with warm pressure. A levitation field, smaller and less powerful than the one used for troop deployment, began to rise up from the floor, and Jehamiah rode the gentle, powerful force until he hung suspended in the darkened throne hall of his leader. Beneath him the portal closed, and he settled down to wait there until he was acknowledged. Turel disliked close proximity to himself.

The brilliant light globes that provided illumination for the rest of the fortress were dimmed in this chamber, but Jehamiah could still see well enough to discern the far-off throne and the driven being who moved restlessly before it.

Turel, sire and king of the Turelim Pride, slid over the polished stone floor of his private chambers. He was muttering to himself, his abstracted gaze flitting about the room. At length he finally took notice of his chief servant waiting patiently at the other end of the hall. His movements halted, and he glared reproachfully.

"You are lagging in response to my summons."

Jehamiah braced himself. It was going to be one of those. He had heard rumors that Kain himself had paid a visit to Turel earlier in the week, and nowadays this always seemed to leave his master in an ill humor.

"I apologize, my lord," Jehamiah acquiesced. "I was attending to the training of new recruits." Then, in the hopes of lightening his master's mood, "They are eager devils with unswerving loyalty, sire. When the time comes for the implementation of your designs, I am sure that you will be pleased at their service."

"They are Turelim, of course they will serve well. They are of superior stock," Turel snapped pettishly.

"Of course, my lord," Jehamiah agreed hastily.

For a while Turel just stood there, and Jehamiah was beginning to wonder if he had been called here solely to be a target for his master's wrath, when the vampire lord suddenly spoke.

"Send word to the leaders of the Pride. We begin the assault in two days time. See to it that all is in readiness."

Jehamiah stared, unclear whether he had heard what he thought. Then, as realization dawned, he let loose an eager hiss. "Aye, my liege, with good will!"

Turel then turned his back and once again began to move aimlessly about the hall with an intense air. His lieutenant hesitated, uncertain. "Am I dismissed, lord?" he asked.

Turel did not answer. He was again muttering to himself, lost in his own world.

Jehamiah decided that he was and tapped his clawed foot against the floor. Upon reception of the signal, the gate opened to lower him out of the hall. When he reached the rainbow spangled crystal floor, he immediately set off at full pace to spread the news.

As he walked he swept his massive arms out in practice to limber up his shoulders, feeling eager for the first time in decades. At last all the preparations would pay off. Once again he could forge into glorious battle. No more confinement in this prison, training the other warriors in effective combat and proper savagery. Now the Turelim Pride would assert its deserved dominance over the leaderless lesser clans of Nosgoth, and all who opposed them would be laid to waste. Jehamiah had been let off the leash and extreme measures were allowed, just as it had been when mighty Kain had ordered the extermination of the Razielim.

Oh, how Jehamiah remembered fondly that slaughter, fighting by Turel's side in righteous combat. He grinned to himself. It was going to be the good old days again.

* * *

Raziel was getting desperate. His journey to the Huron Range on the southern reaches of the borders of Zephon's old territory had been as swift as possible in accordance with Ariel's warning. Through use of the Warp Gates and judicious avoidance of unnecessary battles he had arrived there in only a few hours, but it had taken him the better part of a day to locate the fortified settlement in the area, so similar to the one he had seen in the Valley of Door.

The purpose of these mini-fortresses was now clear to Raziel. They were almost completely self-sufficient, requiring only deliveries of regular human cattle who were hoisted into the towns by levers and baskets. The structure in the central plaza was somehow attuned to the Tower of Turel. Whenever the Tower passed over it, the structure became activated, and a beam of gravity-defying force, the same power that kept the Tower airborne, would connect the two points. From one settlement to another, the process then rotated. Either Turelim weakened from the strain of keeping the great fortress aloft would descend and be pampered and protected by the vampire worshippers until the Tower returned, or those already recuperated from their former excursions would once again arise, ostensibly to take the place of the ones who would be deposited on the next stop. It was a carefully planned, ingenious system, very like the fastidious Turel, and Raziel had to admit that he was impressed by what his brother had achieved.

Unfortunately he was also at a loss as to how to beat this system. Judging by the large amount of Turelim milling about the contact zone, this was obviously going to be a pick-up point. So even if Raziel managed to break into the city, fight his way past the human guards and single-handedly kill every Turelim present, unlikely as all that was, he would still not be able to enter his brother's keep. He had no doubt that the transference was monitored and controlled by the Tower, not the sanctuaries, so any disturbance below would mean a cessation of travel between the two and the departure of the Tower. And even if it missed a drop or pick-up point, Raziel felt certain, knowing Turel as he did, that the Tower would still be able to make its way to another staging area rapidly and without threat of crashing. It was simply the way Turel thought. He was nothing if not thorough.

Raziel then became aware of an ominous humming. Looking up from his vantage point on a high crag, he could see the monstrous aerial disturbance that presaged the coming of the Tower of Turel from the east.

Frustrated, he leapt to his feet and began to pace about nervously. What was he supposed to do? The situation seemed hopeless; there was no way he was going to get into that abominable juggernaut. Should he try to glide out starting from a high position and hope he could reach it and find a way in? No, that had almost no possibility of success.

Raziel continued to watch helplessly as the Tower advanced. He was hundreds of yards from the temple walls, and judging by the last time it would take only a few minutes for the stone colossus to reach its target, draw in the cargo and leave. He wouldn't even be able to get halfway to the walls by then, but even if he had been inside the city at this point, he still did not think it would avail him. Turel had obviously planned this tactic carefully for decades, what chance did he have of finding a solution in minutes? Had his younger brother completely outmaneuvered him?

Raziel cursed angrily. What was he going to do now? Hurry back to Ariel and learn the next meeting spot, just to run over there and be balked again? Damn it all! Why had she sent him here? Anyone could see that he was without recourse in the matter. And to think that she had accused him of being unperceptive!

He paused. Yes, she had called him that. And she had implied that he had a means of gaining entrance. What were her words? _So were you reborn with a gift all your own that will enable you to use that dream to see you safely inside your brother's fortress_.

The Tower was just edging over the boundary of the enclave. Soon the transfer would take place. Raziel stressed furiously over the problem, certain that he was missing something obvious. A gift reborn? Reborn as a vampire or as the Reaver of Souls? Probably the latter, but what gift could help him here, when he was almost out of time and…

He stopped.

Yes…time…

Timelessness.

Above the vampire refuge, the Tower of Turel came to a halt. The rippling force beam descended with swift intent, and the Turelim began to rise into the air.

And as they did so, Raziel raised his hands in mystic gesture and willed himself to return to the Spectral Plane.

The surrounding rocky formations shimmered and twisted, turning the same greenish-blue as was Raziel now himself. The light from the sky ceased, and limited solar ambiance was replaced by more otherworldly perceptions.

He looked out across the distorted horizon…

And laughed with triumph at what he saw.

The Tower of Turel still hung in the air above the town, frozen in time. But the city had changed dramatically. The central fortification had become stretched and distended upwards, rising into the air to form a high plateau whose flat summit hovered just below the opening to the Tower.

Raziel sprang from his perch and tore down the slope. There was no movement in the area, neither from Sluagh nor vampire wraith. The way was open for him. Upon reaching the high wall of the encampment, he found a point that the warped dimensions had lowered to a vantage allowing him easy access. He vaulted over the barrier easily.

Weaving through the alleys and lanes, Raziel swiftly came upon the newly formed landmass. He paused for a moment to admire the feat. Obviously there were repercussions to Turel's playing with force and gravity that even he could not predict, Raziel thought happily. Then Raziel bounded up the high slope, leaping sure-footedly from one ledge to another, climbing the face of the looming hill until he finally reached the top. From there he could make out the interior of the huge tower that now floated helplessly before him, and he soon spied a cavernous entrance set into one side of the airshaft. No way of knowing where it led, but he would soon find out.

"I am here, brother," he proclaimed aloud triumphantly, and dove into the lion's den.

* * *

Turel's head jerked up. He had heard!

"He's here," he whispered fearfully.

Panic swept over him. Rushing madly about his empty throne room, he began to shout out to the dim shadows.

"Jehamiah! Anhat! Alert the clan! Ready all defenses!"

"We are invaded!"

_To be continued…_


	4. Ch3: Hidden

A burst of green energy shot into the midst of the gibbering Sluagh pack. One of their number let out a long eerie wail and took off down the hall, flailing its now transparent and harmless limbs. The rest milled about restlessly, voicing wordless murmurings of hunger, until two more flashes of jade fire streaked into them, sending the scavengers scurrying off in search of less hostile prey.

Raziel lowered the Soul Reaver and sank back down, grateful for the rest.

Since his undignified flight from Turel's hordes, he had been careful. Spending as much time as he could in the Spectral Realm, he had chosen to hide whenever possible and conserve his strength. His magical reserves had been depleted, and he could no longer risk open combat against the powerful Turelim vampires.

Turel's trap-door strategy had been vexing at first, but Raziel had soon recognized that there were ways of getting around it. Even in this floating dungeon, one could still find places to hide from view, and some of them even had planar portals to enable him to cross back over to the Tower proper. There, out of sight, he would simply wait until the doors were opened to allow Turelim to enter or exit. At that moment, he would translate across the divide to find the Turelim gone and the doors agape, enabling him to move on.

It wasn't perfect. Once after reforming he had been spotted while heading towards his hiding place, and was forced to defend himself against a roomful of vicious undead monsters. In the initial moment of discovery he had panicked and tried to use the Sunlight Glyph. It was a costly mistake. Not only was this the most draining spell in his arsenal, but it also required the use of sunlight absorbed by his body, and there were no windows in the Tower, especially this far inside the keep. The Glyph lowered his magical energy greatly and had only a limited effect, failing to kill a few of his adversaries. The remainder he had fought hand to hand to work out his aggression at being so foolish, but he did employ the relatively low-cost Stone Glyph to petrify a few vampires long enough to shatter them. After that it was only muscle, skill, and determination. In the end Raziel prevailed and made his way out of the hall without further excitement.

Later he had recalled that he was close to the great meeting hall of this sub-tower, the main attraction of each of the four lesser members of the fortress' layout. It was here that vampires from all the clans had congregated for companionship and entertainment. On reaching the entryway he had been set upon by the pack of greedy Sluagh eager to feast on his energy. It was not much of a contest.

Now Raziel was enjoying a few moments of peace before the renewal of his private war. He was crouched on top of a warped pillar topped by a great metal bowl filled with fire. Blue and cold, the flames flickered but gave no light. After resting for a few minutes, Raziel half-rose with a sigh. The planar portal on this pillar had been a lucky find, and now he had to make use of it. Crouched low, Raziel cast the Shift Glyph, and as the world mixed and flowed around him, he hunkered down in the now-orange flames atop the straight column, unharmed, and hoped he had not been seen.

The Turelim who were patrolling the anteroom gave no sign that they were aware of his presence, and Raziel offered silent thanks.

Two large metal doors that blocked off the great hall were now familiar to him, and he settled in to wait for his opening. It could take hours, but he was patient. Even if it took him the rest of the day, he was resolved to…

A scream burst out from close by, and Raziel almost fell off his perch.

Collecting himself, he peered cautiously over the edge of the bowl.

A mob of humans was marching into the gallery. Some of them had the shaven heads and red robes of vampire worshippers, but many others were dressed in rags and tatters, their skin a uniform pasty white. There were men, women, children, aged and young, all the different stages of human life exposed here. Numbering over three hundred in all, they were herded along by twenty Turelim. The scream had originated from a human female who had broken from the crowd and flung herself at two vampire sentries below Raziel's hiding place. Both beasts eagerly began to shred her apart, and the crimson spray of her lifeblood soon found its way down their snarling throats.

Raziel glanced back at the mob. Their vampiric overseers had quickly moved in to prevent any more escapes, and they all stood intently watching the slaughter. Still, though some small children were sobbing, the looks on their elders' faces were wistful, even joyous. They were vampire worshippers all, and Raziel knew they considered that dead woman to be extremely fortunate.

The Turelim who had been guarding the hall now surged forward eagerly _en_ _masse_. The ones escorting the humans consulted amongst themselves, then chose ten happily exclaiming humans and led them forward to the other group. One vampire stepped out as they approached.

"Is this all you deign to offer us?" he proclaimed angrily, and those behind him rumbled their assent. "Why so tight-fisted? You have more there than you need, surely."

"All these are reserved for the Atlas Legions. Their well-being is paramount, as you should know by now," a spokesman from the shepherd Turelim replied. He pointed a claw at the two greedily feasting vampires. "Besides, you lot have already exceeded your bounds. Attend to your duties and we will see to ours."

"Pah!" the other vampire spat. "Those mixed-blood laborers are always receiving special treatment!"

"If this concerns you so," his opponent glowered threateningly, "you may voice your complaint to Anhat. Now we have _real_ work to do!" He turned and stalked back to his charges.

The hall guard growled at his retreating form. Then he and his troop moved to surround their newly delivered food, all of whom had fallen to their knees and were crying thanks to their saviors.

As the first shrieks rang through the hall, the human parade meekly followed its guides to the closed double doors. Two Turelim pulled both portals apart and beckoned the herd through, but before the first human could take a step forward, Raziel had already slipped back to a world frozen in time.

Leaping to the empty floor, he passed beneath the arch and gazed out on a vista that was dauntingly familiar.

The circular chamber was huge, stretching hundreds of feet in diameter. A wide staircase, made twisted and uneven by the dimensional flow, descended from the entrance to the hall floor, and in the center of the room, towering a hundred feet in the air, was a prodigious statue of Kain.

This lone monolith, one of a quartet, was the centerpiece of each grand hall. Carved from volcanic black glass, the colossal monument was braced from within by many iron bars and carved in painstaking detail. Each tendon, every strand of hair was meticulously well crafted, a testimony to the ultimate ruler of the planet. Kain's image stood with feet planted apart, one had on his hips while the other grasped the hilt of the gigantic metal Soul Reaver sword set point downwards. His face bore a look of fierce pride and majesty, the artisan having crafted well, and Raziel could not help but feel the same awe he had experienced on first viewing this titanic dedication to the sire of all Nosgoth's vampires.

He remained so entranced for a while, and then came back to himself. Casting his eyes to the right, Raziel recognized an elegant walkway that ran a short length along the wall to an exit from the gallery. From here he could see that the door remained as it had been in his time, an ornate affair of wrought iron bars molded into pleasing shapes. Thanks to Melchiah, Raziel could phase his body through this perforated barrier on the Spectral Plane without having to cross over to the physical world. Simple enough. But he had something else in mind.

That huge retinue of humans destined for food, and the mention of something called the Atlas Legions: this hinted at matters of great importance. Was there something now in this hall that could be turned to his advantage? In truth he had not given much thought to assault, so concentrated had he become on managing to reach Turel as soon as possible. But certainly he would welcome an opening, some unguarded moment to wreak havoc and score a major victory against his brother's perfectly oiled machine. It certainly merited further investigation.

Raziel's glowing eyes roamed the hall, seeking means of egress to the real world. He noticed a portal on the floor far below, but quickly discarded it as impractical. There must be a more advantageous position from which to spy on the goings-on of this cavern. Looking up he saw, sure enough, the gentle glow of a planar portal from above the cornice of the doorframe.

Raziel crouched down and leapt twenty feet straight into the air to catch the ledge. Pulling himself up, he stepped into the luminous waves of energy and transported himself to the world of light. He could feel particles coalescing into flesh and bone around him, drawn by his will to form an appropriate vessel to house his spirit. When the transformation was complete he turned and looked out upon his new surroundings.

Kain's colossus still reigned undeniably, but no longer was the hall empty. The floor below was packed with hundreds of Turelim.

Raziel sank down below sight and examined the layout. The first humans were just passing the threshold beneath him and descending the stairs. The Turelim far below were not moving about or grouped haphazardly. Instead they were all facing the statue and arranged along quartz lines that radiated out from it. These bands cut through the green and black mosaic tile patterns that decorated the floor. Each vampire stood above a crystal node in the web, and the air around them was wavering and distorted, like heat ripples over a blazing fire. It was telekinetic power, Raziel realized, and from what he could see they seemed to be focusing their abilities down into the ground. The ribbons pulsed with a steady glow. He could feel the power radiating up from the floor, on a scale he had never previously imagined. The Reaver of Souls stared down upon these proceedings curiously. What was its significance?

Then it occurred to him; these must be the Atlas Legions, and they were the ones charged with the task of making the Tower fly. It was members of this group whom Raziel had seen being transferred and deposited in the temple settlements outside. Somehow those crystal ley-lines acted as conduits of telekinetic power, directing and amplifying the Turelims' efforts throughout the fortress and keeping it aloft. The same thing must be happening in the other three lower towers, Raziel surmised.

Having deduced all this, he was forced to admit that there was nothing he could do here. Whatever magic he had left could destroy only a tiny fraction of the Legions present, and even if he managed to get close enough to use it, he would be swiftly wiped out by the remaining members. There was just too much power here, and though his death would not be final, it would achieve no purpose. Besides, he had to save his strength for when it was needed.

So resolved, Raziel now turned his attention to exiting this huge power generator. The human food mob had reached the steps and its members were happily moving to meet their fates. The upper level on which he resided was deserted. Raziel rose up and leapt silently from his perch to land with catlike grace. Stealing a glance at the hall, he checked to see if he had been noticed. No, all was well. The Turelim were intent upon their load bearing and the humans had eyes only for their heavenly masters.

Crouched low, Raziel crept unobtrusively up the side stairwell. Reaching the small door, he pulled it open a crack and slipped through just as the feeding began.

* * *

Jehamiah rose up through the opening and hovered in midair. At sight of him, the guards who had been tensed for battle now relaxed. He acknowledged their vigilance with a satisfied nod and strode off to meet Turel as soon as the metal shield closed beneath him. There were more deaths to report.

Upon approaching he was surprised to see that his master seemed alert and ready for a change. Thinking bitterly that this was because he might bring word from Ellich De, Jehamiah decided to keep his message succinct.

The first lieutenant stopped before his father's throne and bowed.

"Others are dead, but we are ready for him," he stated simply.

Turel stared calmly at his firstborn. The tips of his claws tapped together slowly, making a harsh clicking sound that reminded his servant unpleasantly of the Zephonims' clacking limbs.

"Do you know why I am doing this, Jehamiah?"

The question was so unexpected that Jehamiah could only stare at his sire.

"The reason is," Turel continued without waiting for a response, "because it is my destiny."

Jehamiah nodded wordlessly in agreement, uncertain what had brought this on.

"I am the only one who can defeat him. And defeat him I must, to preserve our race and our rule. I have dwelled upon nothing else for over 700 years. The others lacked the means to prevail, crippled as they were from outside and within. It saddened me to see them brought so low."

Turel leaned forward suddenly, his hands convulsively clutching the arms of his throne. "But it was justice! They had erred in opposing me, and if you believe it was his hand that consigned them to death, you are mistaken. It was mine! Not for his vengeance but for my own have we come to this point!"

Turel was panting with fury, and his feverish eyes held the vampire marshal in their grip. Jehamiah was paralyzed by what he saw in their intensity.

"But I do not condone the loss of my children, Jehamiah!" Turel rasped harshly, his claws digging into his seat. "I show my love for you by actions, not words and vague hints of my own importance. I have taken steps to protect not only myself but you as well. It is through me that we will all be redeemed! Do you understand what I am saying?!"

Turel had risen to his full height, and the look on his twitching face was positively mad. He stared out now at the Turelim guards.

"Do you all understand? I will save my children! I am not like HIM!!"

Bewildered, Jehamiah stared up at his leader. Had you asked him why he could not explain it, but for some reason, he did not think Turel was referring to Raziel this time.

The first lieutenant glanced behind him at the other Turelim, and they too were gaping at Turel with expressions of worry and confusion. He turned back to his lord, concerned and uncertain what he could do to help, but Turel had resumed his seat and his face was once again calm and collected. The episode, whatever it was about, seemed to be over. Jehamiah was relieved but remained wary.

"My lord?" he queried. "Are you… dissatisfied with our preparations? Perhaps it would ease your concerns if a guard were placed about the Open Eye." Ellich De had always rejected such measures scornfully, implying ineffectiveness on the part of Jehamiah's troops. Jehamiah would relish the opportunity to see the haughty fool countermanded by Turel himself.

But when his master spoke next the lieutenant was disappointed. "Ellich De is now forewarned of our enemy. I do not believe he has anything to fear. But your concern is noted and appreciated, Jehamiah. I am sure your brother would be honored to hear of it."

Jehamiah quickly bowed to hide the look on his face.

"For now," Turel resumed thoughtfully, "We will await our foe here. Though the presence of my children will hearten me come the final battle, in the end only my hand will be needed to deliver the final blow."

* * *

When the voices came, Raziel froze in his tracks.

After leaving the great hall he had chosen a route upwards which he supposed would be deserted, leading as it did through craft rooms and a library of ancient lore. So far he had been correct; his progress on this level had been unimpeded. The narrow flight of steps he was on should lead to the rooms reserved for chronicling vampire history. From there it was only a short distance back to the main shaft and he would be halfway up the Tower.

So Raziel was naturally upset by this disturbance. He had not been expecting another battle here. What kind of Turelim would be reading at a time like this?

Unless, he thought with a groan, it was no longer a library. He kept forgetting how much time had passed since he had died.

Padding cautiously up to the landing, Raziel made his way to a small door. Pressing his ear against it he could hear shouting again, but it was curiously faint. It was possible that whoever was making the commotion was in another corridor leading to the library, and if Raziel was quick he could make it through the relatively small chamber before anyone else arrived. Of course, the speakers might be headed this way from the direction that he was intending to travel, but Raziel was tired of playing it safe. He was going to take his chances. With that, he jerked the door open and dashed in.

The Reaver of Souls skidded to a halt. He had been right. The library was gone.

More importantly, the floor was missing too.

He was now standing on a narrow iron gantry hundreds of feet above a great pool of water, and he was not alone. Several Turelim guards were stationed on other walkways that branched off from the main arm. One of them looked towards the door.

The portal closed with a soft click, but there was no one there.

The vampire crossed over to the door. Pulling it open, he peered down the staircase. Nothing.

Perplexed, the Turelim stood uncertainly for a moment. Then, with a dismissive shrug of his heavy shoulders, he turned and retraced his steps back to his position to concentrate once more on the show below.

Hanging by his claws beneath the gantry floor, Raziel too was interested in this exhibition.

Of all the things he had expected to find in Turel's stronghold, water was the last. Stealing Rahab's aquatic invulnerability had not completely erased his uneasiness for the element, having been executed by being tossed into the Lake of the Dead. All vampires but the Rahabim rightly shared his concerns. But far below him now, Raziel could see what appeared to be a group of Turelim fledglings. They were clustered in the center of a wide circular stone bay created by the intersection of granite walls that rose up out of the water. The walls crossed the hall at perpendicular angles, dividing the great lake into neat compartments. A Turelim elder stood atop one of these divides addressing the novices in a loud bellow. It was his voice that Raziel had heard before. Safely hidden, the Reaver listened with interest.

"Enough of your jabberings!" the elder roared. "As your captain it is my duty to see that you are properly trained for the coming assault. Since it has now been announced for one day from now, there is no time to waste."

One of the youngsters stood and voiced something that was beyond Raziel's hearing. But their leader's response was nothing if not audible.

"The matter of the intruder is best left up to your elders and betters! You will concentrate on preparing yourselves to best serve the Turelim cause when we set forth to bring the earthbound clans under our sway. Now hark unto me!"

Far above, Raziel's claws dug into the iron grate. For a moment he was too stunned to think. He knew that he had heard aright, but the prospect still left him aghast. There was more than just his own quest at stake here. Turel was well on his way to becoming the temporal ruler of Nosgoth!

He should have realized that his brother would have embarked on such an attempt. From what Ariel had told him, Turel had somehow received foreknowledge from Kain that his murdered elder would return someday. He must have known that Raziel would eliminate all his youngest siblings first and leave the strongest for last. With the other clans deprived of the leadership and protection afforded by his brothers, Turel could then step in and launch an offensive that would catch the bereaved vampire community off guard. From his brief meeting with Kain, Raziel had inferred that their Father no longer deigned to trouble himself with the day-to-day rule of Nosgoth. Obviously Turel intended to fill the void left behind by their indifferent sire, and he had relied on Raziel to dispose of his siblings so that Turel would not have to risk his own skin. He trembled with outrage at the enormity of his brother's presumption. Ariel had been right: Turel was a coward.

"Though it is unlikely fledglings such as yourself will be directed against them," the captain continued, "you must still learn effective strategy for combating the Rahabim. Keep in mind, these are no spindle-limbed web-eaters like Zephon's insects you were trampling yesterday." Derisive laughter came from the fledglings. "As dwellers in water, these fish cousins of ours remain our most powerful and elusive opponents. But even a strength can be a weakness."

At this the captain gestured to two adult Turelim standing against the chamber wall. Both of them were wearing rubber gloves, and so begarbed they withdrew from one of the light globes in the wall what appeared to be thick copper wires. These they then placed into the murky water before them. A great crackling and spitting of steam came up from where the metal came in contact with the lapping surface, and strange flashes of energy snapped up over the water. A muted howling could now be heard from the pool, and the Turelim on the catwalk began to laugh maliciously. Suddenly a form burst out of the water and landed on the bridge near the captain. It stood there, swaying groggily, and Raziel saw it was a Rahabim vampire.

The purpose of this place was now clear to him: it was a training hall for the Turelim warriors. Captives of the four other vampire clans were held here in the outlying buildings in environments similar to the ones they occupied on Nosgoth, where Turel's brood made sport with them to determine the best means of defeating the lesser clans. Raziel was sickened by this callow treatment of their fellow vampires but did not dare interfere. He had a mission of revenge to get back to, and with that he began to crawl quietly and surreptitiously along the bottom of the railing.

The Turelim captain was now advancing on his beleaguered quarry, egged on by his eager young followers' cries. The Rahabim, trapped and long used to this torture, was still not about to give up. Its throat swelled and it spat a blue glob of energy at its opponent. The captain responded with a telekinetic blast that cancelled the assault, then bore swiftly down on the wounded prey.

The injured Rahabim tried to lunge forward and bite him, but the captain dodged nimbly aside and slashed his talons through the vampire's back. It shuddered and tried desperately to dive back into the water, but the captain rushed in and grabbed it by the throat. He lifted the struggling, spitting creature off the ground, an evil sneer on his face. His students cheered raucously.

Raziel had now crossed the length of the combat range undetected. He was almost at the door leading out. What transpired below was none of his concern.

"And so it is done!" the captain bellowed triumphantly. The Rahabim was thrashing weakly and trying to bite him. "Of course you know, we are not supposed to permanently dispatch our practice toys here." He gave the Rahabim a rude shake. "But since after tomorrow there will be no need for their services, I will give you a final demonstration."

His claws tightened around the Rahabim's neck with bone crunching force. The vampire's eyes bulged out in panic.

"If the rest of them prove as uncooperative as this guppy," the captain called out happily, "you might all bear witness to another total clan purge, just like the one I experienced in my youth. What a rare treat that was!" He laughed joyfully.

The fledglings joined in.

A bolt of green energy streaked across the hall and struck the captain in the back. With a surprised cry he flew through the air and impacted against the wall, then slid down into the water. Immediately it devoured his flesh with searing hunger, and the captain's terrible shrieks filled the room before he sank beyond sight, thrashing in mortal agony. The Rahabim tore free of his burning grasp and, not questioning its good fortune, furiously sank its serrated teeth into its enemy's throat.

The fledglings were shouting in panic and cringing away from the water's edge, as if expecting to be dragged in at any moment. The two Turelim adults grasped long-handled metal hooks and tried determinedly to fish the captain out of the water to safety. The hooks caught hold, and they swiftly heaved their compatriot upward to hang dripping in the air for all to see. His head was missing.

The Rahabim shot out of the water in a high arc, the blistered head dangling triumphantly from its jaws. It dove back down and exited into a side drain, blissfully thanking Almighty Kain for this unexpected miracle.

On the catwalk, the Turelim charged out of the hall in pursuit of the enemy.

* * *

Raziel ran as fast as he could, scorning concealment in favor of speed. There was no regret for his rashness. He had enjoyed that!

The slight lead he had on his pursuers would not last long, but fortunately he was not far from regaining the center of the Tower. A spiral staircase began there that curved up the sides of the shaft and led directly to Turel's royal hall. The tunnel that housed this stairwell was open on the side looking out into the Tower's interior, to give one a view while climbing. This meant that any doors planted there recently would be no real hindrance in the Spectral Realm, since Raziel could simply vault over the balustrade and shimmy past them to regain the stairs. He was counting on Turel's vanity to have kept him from walling up the openings and thus depriving his people of another view of his precious architectural triumph. Barring some unforeseen disaster it was now a clear shot to the inner sanctum.

Raziel staunchly refused to think about what he would have to do when he reached his goal.

Upon arriving at the final door back to the main shaft he did not bother with opening it but simply kicked it down.

He stood now on a vast stone platform that spanned half the width of the Tower's central cavity. The long outer edge curved in a smooth crescent arc from one side of the shaft to the other, allowing a somewhat eclipsed view of the lower portion of the Tower and the entrance in the base far below.

But Raziel had no chance to appreciate the scenery. He was more concerned with the scores of Turelim turning to face him.

Before they could recover from the shock of his abrupt entrance, he quickly cast the Sound Glyph and brought those around him to their knees with ruptured eardrums.

There was not a second to lose. Raziel turned and dashed off to his left. The door he had entered by was only a few yards away from the great arched tunnel that was the platform's primary means of access. This was located near the tip of one of the platform's two points, and the portal to the stairs was set into the side of that tunnel. There was probably a door there now, but as soon as he got past it he could escape into the Spectral Plane and travel the steps in relative freedom.

Raziel plowed into the wide tunnel and headed for the stair entrance, firing bursts from the Soul Reaver behind him to hinder pursuit from any vampires unaffected by his spell. The entrance was only a few feet off, and to his surprise it was unblocked. A Turelim stood inside the stairwell, leaning weakly against the wall. Raziel brought about the Soul Reaver to clear the way with another blast.

Too late he saw the vampire raise its hand and flip a switch in the wall. Before Raziel could react, a heavy stone slab dropped between him and the Turelim, sealing him off from the stairs.

Raziel roared in frustration and spun around. The nearest enemy was already starting to climb to its feet. The stairwell opening actually started some forty feet beyond the edge of the platform, much too far for him to glide. He had to think of something fast.

A huge pulley was set in the wall on the other side of the tunnel. From it extended a heavy chain up to a raised portcullis above the tunnel entrance. Raziel lurched desperately towards it. The recovered Turelim were now bounding at him with furious intent. Just as they were almost upon him, Raziel reached the gear and slashed the Soul Reaver through the chain. It parted like wet paper, and the portcullis came thundering down. One Turelim dove towards him, but the points of the gate slammed home into the ground, impaling the vampire like a bug on a pin.

Trembling with exhilaration, Raziel backed up a few paces. The monsters were swarming around the portcullis, trying to heave it up and firing pulse blasts that failed to penetrate the thick iron bars. Safe for the moment, he turned and loped dejectedly down the hall. This too led eventually to the upper reaches, but it was more convoluted than the lost stairwell. There were many rooms and halls he would have to pass through between here and his destination, offering numerous chances for ambush and confrontation against him. And his magical reserves were close to drained. Raziel cursed disconsolately. He was not looking forward to another protracted spate of battles and hiding.

He turned a corner and was just debating whether or not to go to spirit form for a while when he suddenly stopped.

Turning he glanced about in puzzlement. Though this stretch of decorated hallway was identical to the next, there was something strangely familiar about it, something important.

Raziel tried to remember. A secret, wasn't it? But what…?

He had been here before… and not alone…

Then it came to him. Of course!

This was the entrance to the royal dining hall, the one Turel had concluded their first tour of the Tower on!

The use of this room was restricted to the imperial family of Kain, its location was kept a secret. One path opened out here, and the other…

The other led directly to Turel's throne room!

Raziel could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had only used this vault two times in his life, which from his point of view was only about fifty years ago. After his death, the clan leaders' already tenuously acrimonious existence with one another had deteriorated into fearful suspicion and isolation, lest they hazard the same fate as their eldest brother. Contact must have broken down completely. That meant these secret passages had probably not been used for centuries, and quite possibly were long forgotten by anyone. This was his best chance to catch Turel unawares. That is, he thought suddenly, if the passage was still there.

Fearful of what may or may not happen, Raziel edged over to a particular alcove set between two piers. Reaching up he traced one claw along the lines of a stylized relief just as he had seen Turel do before. He then pressed three seemingly unrelated designs.

With only a faint rumble of stone against stone, a portion of the wall slid down into the ground. An empty span of corridor stretched out before him. Quickly Raziel stepped inside and pressed a panel in the wall. The opening closed up behind him, and for the first time in hours, Raziel relaxed completely. He was safe.

This feeling lasted only a few moments. While thankful for this opportunity, Raziel was still suspicious. There was no light to be seen, and although he recalled the path was a fairly straightforward affair, he did not want to be caught unawares. The way might be booby-trapped somehow. With this in mind, the lone avenger deemed it wise to advance forward through the Spectral Realm.

Having performed the translation, Raziel found that, as expected, he could see his way clearly now. Spectral beings did not require light, and the corridor curved up ahead, seemingly unchanged and harmless. Satisfied, Raziel continued on his way.

The trek lasted nearly an hour. Murals along the walls depicting vampire history relieved the monotony. Raziel was surprised to see himself still evident in some pictures. He had assumed they would have been erased after his fall from grace.

Something else was beginning to trouble him. Though he had been traveling for some time, he had encountered no Sluagh, not even one. Abandoned and walled off though this area might be in the physical world, Raziel was curious at not finding any of the soul scavengers. The extravagant vampire banquets he and his brothers had held here must surely have left a rich and tempting depository of human souls that, in this time-shorn world, would have provided a feast for the carrion crows of the underworld.

Raziel proceeded with caution. On this twilight plane, he knew, there were predators far more perilous than Sluagh.

But no threat materialized, and eventually Raziel arrived at the Council's secluded pleasure chamber.

It was a circular room, about fifty feet across. The concave dome of the ceiling was connected to the floor by eight pillars that formed a ring in the middle of the area. Through the ring Raziel could see what appeared to be an oddly warped piece of statuary, but he paid it no heed. The metal gate that led to Turel's hall of rule was closed, as expected. Casting his eyes about, Raziel located a planar portal behind a pillar on the side of the room opposite the door.

He crossed around to the dimensional conduit. There was something nagging at him. Though faint, Raziel thought he could detect some kind of mystic energy in the air. It seemed to be coming from the twisted piece of art in the middle of the room. As he passed outside the ring he saw that along the inner surface of each pillar there was now a cluster of long spikes extending from about ten feet off the ground. This was a new and incongruous decoration for a vampire dining hall, where impalement on these instruments would mean death for their kind, at least temporarily.

Still, there did not seem to be any immediate danger. So Turel had developed some odd preferences in interior design. If the same held true for his throne room, Raziel might not have to look too hard to find a means of killing his brother. It had occurred to him that he would require some method beyond what he presently possessed to slay a vampire as powerful as Turel. The others had posed problems in that regard as well, and still he had overcome them all somehow.

But maybe, he though faintly as he prepared to cast the Shift Glyph, it would not come to that. Despite everything he had seen and experienced, a part of him still did not want to have to commit another fratricide, especially against a brother he had loved so deeply. Yes, Turel had destroyed him, but only at the insistence of Kain. No matter how his sibling had changed, if Raziel could only reach him, talk to him, he could explain that there was no reason to try and kill one another. Maybe then they could actually join forces against the father who had so cruelly abandoned them both. It was not impossible, he supposed.

As Raziel drifted back to the Material Plane, he thought he heard a faint warbling cry.

It prevented him from simply walking around the pillar to cross the hall. Instead, crouched behind the column, he risked a quick glance around its frame. As it turned out, this was a wise move.

A group of Turelim was standing in the center of the room.

Back pressed against the pillar, Raziel waited for his nerves to settle down. Curse it! He should have known this was too easy!

There were far too many to fight single-handed, and Raziel was unwilling to squander any more Glyph energy. For all he knew he might need every bit of it for the coming conflict, but he hoped he was wrong. If he were to successfully make it out of this chamber, he would have to rely on his wits.

His eyes drifted over the curved wall only a few feet in front of him. It was decorated with light carvings that swirled and danced up along the ceiling. It might just be possible…

Moving as quietly as he could, Raziel stepped over to the wall. He gently pressed his bony talons against it, digging into the crevices.

Yes, this could work. With that, he began to scale the wall.

Keeping the pillar between his body and the Turelim, he moved assuredly along the curve of the stone. The arachnid abilities he had inherited from Zephon's soul now served him well, enabling him to cling and adhere to surfaces he rightly had no place on.

Raziel reached the point where the pillar met the ceiling. No choice now, he would have to move into the open. He only hoped that he was high enough to be out of the Turelims' field of vision. Slowly, inch by inch, he crept out from behind the column and waited tensely, ready for combat.

No sound came from below. Glancing down, he saw that the vampires were absorbed in deliberation of the object in the center of the room. Breathing his thanks, Raziel crept laboriously along the curved roof of the hall.

As he went, though concentrating mainly on evading detection, Raziel gradually became aware of something. The mystic sensation he had received in the Spectral Realm was back, and much stronger now. Something in this room was causing it, and it was crazily familiar. He had felt something like this before, and recently. By now Raziel had maneuvered to the center of the ceiling. From there, he felt he was sufficiently concealed to spy on what was going on below. He craned his neck around to see.

From this vantage he could now see the room clearly. There were eight Turelim vampires arranged in a circle, each standing before a corresponding pillar. Their eyes were tightly shut, and streams of telekinetic power were flowing from their hands towards a great metal sphere that hung in the center of the room. Below this globe was a shifting pool of sand in a stone basin. Under the influence of their power the sphere was slowly rotating in the air. Another object, like a tiny stone effigy, was gliding above the surface of the globe, seeming to be moving slowly toward one of dozens of small glowing crystals embedded in the orb. Raziel noticed that in this strange enclave, one of their number, leaner and hungrier-looking than the rest, was emitting blue sparks of energy from his body, the unmistakable mark of an ultra-powerful life vampire. Raziel was reminded uncomfortably of Dumah.

There was something about that one's scent that stirred a memory in Raziel, as if he had encountered it before. Was it…?!!

No, not Turel. But dangerous all the same.

Still no closer to understanding this scene, Raziel's eye was attracted to something odd about the pillars. The spikes he had seen in the Spectral Realm were still there, but no longer were they unoccupied. There were bodies hanging on them, skeletal remains of some victims long dead and gone. But there was an irregularity to these corpses. One spike stuck out from their bony chests, but two others branched off to the sides and seemed to be supporting appendages of some kind. The corpses' arms were hanging at their sides. Were these freaks of some kind, with additional tiny arms growing out of their…

Backs…

It hit him with the force of death itself, a sweeping wave of furious realization.

Not arms! No, not arms!!

Wings!! _Wings_!!!

_THESE WERE HIS CHILDREN!!!_

His beautiful kin, brutally murdered and hung in this room like trophies of war, their undeveloped pinions that had doomed them set on prominent display!

As had happened once before with Dumah, Raziel lost control. With murder in his heart, he let go of the ceiling and dropped down onto the revolving globe, bringing up his talons to cast a spell that would burn these filthy murderers to ash.

A force slammed into him from all sides. It squeezed him like a walnut, a strength like iron bars crushing his limbs and making his head feel like it was going to rupture inwards. Raziel's glowing eyes bulged out with thwarted fury and pain, he made wretched gurglings as his bones threatened to snap.

Although the pounding cacophony in his ears did not subside, he distinctly heard someone laughing at him.

Raziel's mad eyes settled on the life vampire, who was shaking with mirth and displaying its yellow fangs in a sick grin. It bowed mockingly, and although nearly doubled over from laughing, its hands continued to emit the telekinetic attack that was acting in conjunction with the other vampires to crush Raziel's body.

"Ellich De, second lieutenant to Turel of the Turelim, bids courteous greeting to his master's most exalted and beloved sibling," he gushed dramatically, and Raziel suddenly recognized this degenerate.

Outraged at being brought low by this second-generation upstart, Raziel shook with rage but was prevented from responding by the telekinetic death-grip that held him prisoner. The force pressing around him felt like it was going to burst him at any moment, but the insanity that had possessed him before was still leaping and churning within, screaming out for death, any death. Like a furiously burning star collapsing under its own weight he hung there, a locus of conflicting forces.

"Are you pleased to see me?" Ellich De inquired innocently. "Of course you are, and rest assured that the feeling is mutual. Do you know that we were aware of your presence in our tunnels as soon as you set foot in them? But I was so thrilled at the prospect of seeing you again that I simply had to let you join us. How very unrealistic of you to assume that our lord had overlooked the existence of these passages."

Raziel groaned bloodily in response, the hatred building up in him until he thought he must explode.

"Ah, yes, speaking of Turel," Ellich De exclaimed ecstatically, "We must inform him that he must present himself here for an impromptu family reunion. You do know that he has been eagerly expecting your arrival."

Ellich De's joyfully leering face seemed to loom before Raziel, but in his eyes there was no humor, only coldly calculating viciousness. "Won't it be so cheerfully nostalgic, all of us here, the long-lost rebel and his honored brother…" His voice took on a sneeringly insinuating tone. "And their children?"

The pressure around Raziel seemed to double, and the fury sundering his body blazed with thwarted intensity. From his throat burst an unholy scream. His glowing eyes flared with a blinding light, the facewrap ripped away from his features, and Raziel's body exploded in an eruption of mystic energy.

The ragged cloth floated down and settled to the floor.

* * *

In the Spectral Plane, Raziel slumped weakly against the distorted globe. He had not felt this level of exhaustion since first arriving in the pit. It would be some time before he was back to full energy, but thankfully, time was something he had aplenty. He would abide here until his strength was restored, and then he would return to the real world and manage, somehow, to have his revenge!

An unearthly moaning sounded nearby, and Raziel started up. It was the same noise that had accompanied him into the real world, the one that had put him on his guard. But now it was different.

Now there was more than one.

Looking up, Raziel saw, floating down from around the ceiling, the most dangerous entities on the Non-corporeal Plane: vampire wraiths.

Raziel staggered to his feet as more than half a dozen of the black-robed monsters descended to surround him, their eager calls sending a tremor of fear through his soul. He had fought these creatures before, but never in such numbers, and in his present condition he could not afford to risk such a challenge. This explained the lack of Sluagh on the way here. He had to escape. If they overwhelmed him, he would be banished back to the Elder's Lair, and he would have to break into Turel's Tower all over again.

Before he could formulate a plan, the first one dove at him.

Raziel reeled back and swung the Soul Reaver. Both attacks went wide of their targets, but as Raziel righted himself unsteadily, another wraith saw its chance and raked its talons along his back. He cried out and swung around instantly, driving the Soul Reaver through the wraith before it could begin siphoning off his energy. It stumbled back out of reach, briefly opening a hole in the wall of death, and Raziel leapt desperately forward at this chance of escape.

A wraith slammed into him, bearing Raziel to the ground. The Reaver was already exhausted, and the force of the blow proved too much for him. The wraiths clustered about him, their hungry wails taking on an eager hymn. The one that had felled him swiped its claws across his back, but Raziel hardly felt it. He knew he had failed now, and that whatever advantage he had against Turel would soon be lost. As the energy flowed from his spirit form into the wraith's greedy mouth, Raziel was at least glad that he had so little energy left it would not feed these devils much. The world began to fade around him, his thoughts and regrets mixing and flowing in his mind.

A strange cry broke above him suddenly, and the draining transfer stopped.

Blearily, Raziel raised his head to see what had saved him.

The wraith that had attacked him had risen off his body. The others swarmed in, but that one lunged forward, striking at them angrily, and they swiftly dispersed, crying out in rage and confusion. Raziel shared in their bewilderment. What was happening?

The lone wraith now lowered itself beside him, and Raziel could do nothing but stare into its shadowy hood. His vision must be fading, because he could swear that the wraith's eyes were gray, not red.

Its murky features came closer, and it was now making odd sounds, different from the empty moans of before. There almost seemed to be sense to them: a noise, repeated over and over again. Raziel strained to hear it. The wraith bent in to his ear.

Gradually it became clear.

"Father!"

_To be continued…_


	5. Ch4: Revelations

A burst of green energy shot into the midst of the gibbering Sluagh pack. One of their number let out a long eerie wail and took off down the hall, flailing its now transparent and harmless limbs. The rest milled about restlessly, voicing wordless murmurings of hunger, until two more flashes of jade fire streaked into them, sending the scavengers scurrying off in search of less hostile prey.

Raziel lowered the Soul Reaver and sank back down, grateful for the rest.

Since his undignified flight from Turel's hordes, he had been careful. Spending as much time as he could in the Spectral Realm, he had chosen to hide whenever possible and conserve his strength. His magical reserves had been depleted, and he could no longer risk open combat against the powerful Turelim vampires.

Turel's trap-door strategy had been vexing at first, but Raziel had soon recognized that there were ways of getting around it. Even in this floating dungeon, one could still find places to hide from view, and some of them even had planar portals to enable him to cross back over to the Tower proper. There, out of sight, he would simply wait until the doors were opened to allow Turelim to enter or exit. At that moment, he would translate across the divide to find the Turelim gone and the doors agape, enabling him to move on.

It wasn't perfect. Once after reforming he had been spotted while heading towards his hiding place, and was forced to defend himself against a roomful of vicious undead monsters. In the initial moment of discovery he had panicked and tried to use the Sunlight Glyph. It was a costly mistake. Not only was this the most draining spell in his arsenal, but it also required the use of sunlight absorbed by his body, and there were no windows in the Tower, especially this far inside the keep. The Glyph lowered his magical energy greatly and had only a limited effect, failing to kill a few of his adversaries. The remainder he had fought hand to hand to work out his aggression at being so foolish, but he did employ the relatively low-cost Stone Glyph to petrify a few vampires long enough to shatter them. After that it was only muscle, skill, and determination. In the end Raziel prevailed and made his way out of the hall without further excitement.

Later he had recalled that he was close to the great meeting hall of this sub-tower, the main attraction of each of the four lesser members of the fortress' layout. It was here that vampires from all the clans had congregated for companionship and entertainment. On reaching the entryway he had been set upon by the pack of greedy Sluagh eager to feast on his energy. It was not much of a contest.

Now Raziel was enjoying a few moments of peace before the renewal of his private war. He was crouched on top of a warped pillar topped by a great metal bowl filled with fire. Blue and cold, the flames flickered but gave no light. After resting for a few minutes, Raziel half-rose with a sigh. The planar portal on this pillar had been a lucky find, and now he had to make use of it. Crouched low, Raziel cast the Shift Glyph, and as the world mixed and flowed around him, he hunkered down in the now-orange flames atop the straight column, unharmed, and hoped he had not been seen.

The Turelim who were patrolling the anteroom gave no sign that they were aware of his presence, and Raziel offered silent thanks.

Two large metal doors that blocked off the great hall were now familiar to him, and he settled in to wait for his opening. It could take hours, but he was patient. Even if it took him the rest of the day, he was resolved to…

A scream burst out from close by, and Raziel almost fell off his perch.

Collecting himself, he peered cautiously over the edge of the bowl.

A mob of humans was marching into the gallery. Some of them had the shaven heads and red robes of vampire worshippers, but many others were dressed in rags and tatters, their skin a uniform pasty white. There were men, women, children, aged and young, all the different stages of human life exposed here. Numbering over three hundred in all, they were herded along by twenty Turelim. The scream had originated from a human female who had broken from the crowd and flung herself at two vampire sentries below Raziel's hiding place. Both beasts eagerly began to shred her apart, and the crimson spray of her lifeblood soon found its way down their snarling throats.

Raziel glanced back at the mob. Their vampiric overseers had quickly moved in to prevent any more escapes, and they all stood intently watching the slaughter. Still, though some small children were sobbing, the looks on their elders' faces were wistful, even joyous. They were vampire worshippers all, and Raziel knew they considered that dead woman to be extremely fortunate.

The Turelim who had been guarding the hall now surged forward eagerly _en_ _masse_. The ones escorting the humans consulted amongst themselves, then chose ten happily exclaiming humans and led them forward to the other group. One vampire stepped out as they approached.

"Is this all you deign to offer us?" he proclaimed angrily, and those behind him rumbled their assent. "Why so tight-fisted? You have more there than you need, surely."

"All these are reserved for the Atlas Legions. Their well-being is paramount, as you should know by now," a spokesman from the shepherd Turelim replied. He pointed a claw at the two greedily feasting vampires. "Besides, you lot have already exceeded your bounds. Attend to your duties and we will see to ours."

"Pah!" the other vampire spat. "Those mixed-blood laborers are always receiving special treatment!"

"If this concerns you so," his opponent glowered threateningly, "you may voice your complaint to Anhat. Now we have _real_ work to do!" He turned and stalked back to his charges.

The hall guard growled at his retreating form. Then he and his troop moved to surround their newly delivered food, all of whom had fallen to their knees and were crying thanks to their saviors.

As the first shrieks rang through the hall, the human parade meekly followed its guides to the closed double doors. Two Turelim pulled both portals apart and beckoned the herd through, but before the first human could take a step forward, Raziel had already slipped back to a world frozen in time.

Leaping to the empty floor, he passed beneath the arch and gazed out on a vista that was dauntingly familiar.

The circular chamber was huge, stretching hundreds of feet in diameter. A wide staircase, made twisted and uneven by the dimensional flow, descended from the entrance to the hall floor, and in the center of the room, towering a hundred feet in the air, was a prodigious statue of Kain.

This lone monolith, one of a quartet, was the centerpiece of each grand hall. Carved from volcanic black glass, the colossal monument was braced from within by many iron bars and carved in painstaking detail. Each tendon, every strand of hair was meticulously well crafted, a testimony to the ultimate ruler of the planet. Kain's image stood with feet planted apart, one had on his hips while the other grasped the hilt of the gigantic metal Soul Reaver sword set point downwards. His face bore a look of fierce pride and majesty, the artisan having crafted well, and Raziel could not help but feel the same awe he had experienced on first viewing this titanic dedication to the sire of all Nosgoth's vampires.

He remained so entranced for a while, and then came back to himself. Casting his eyes to the right, Raziel recognized an elegant walkway that ran a short length along the wall to an exit from the gallery. From here he could see that the door remained as it had been in his time, an ornate affair of wrought iron bars molded into pleasing shapes. Thanks to Melchiah, Raziel could phase his body through this perforated barrier on the Spectral Plane without having to cross over to the physical world. Simple enough. But he had something else in mind.

That huge retinue of humans destined for food, and the mention of something called the Atlas Legions: this hinted at matters of great importance. Was there something now in this hall that could be turned to his advantage? In truth he had not given much thought to assault, so concentrated had he become on managing to reach Turel as soon as possible. But certainly he would welcome an opening, some unguarded moment to wreak havoc and score a major victory against his brother's perfectly oiled machine. It certainly merited further investigation.

Raziel's glowing eyes roamed the hall, seeking means of egress to the real world. He noticed a portal on the floor far below, but quickly discarded it as impractical. There must be a more advantageous position from which to spy on the goings-on of this cavern. Looking up he saw, sure enough, the gentle glow of a planar portal from above the cornice of the doorframe.

Raziel crouched down and leapt twenty feet straight into the air to catch the ledge. Pulling himself up, he stepped into the luminous waves of energy and transported himself to the world of light. He could feel particles coalescing into flesh and bone around him, drawn by his will to form an appropriate vessel to house his spirit. When the transformation was complete he turned and looked out upon his new surroundings.

Kain's colossus still reigned undeniably, but no longer was the hall empty. The floor below was packed with hundreds of Turelim.

Raziel sank down below sight and examined the layout. The first humans were just passing the threshold beneath him and descending the stairs. The Turelim far below were not moving about or grouped haphazardly. Instead they were all facing the statue and arranged along quartz lines that radiated out from it. These bands cut through the green and black mosaic tile patterns that decorated the floor. Each vampire stood above a crystal node in the web, and the air around them was wavering and distorted, like heat ripples over a blazing fire. It was telekinetic power, Raziel realized, and from what he could see they seemed to be focusing their abilities down into the ground. The ribbons pulsed with a steady glow. He could feel the power radiating up from the floor, on a scale he had never previously imagined. The Reaver of Souls stared down upon these proceedings curiously. What was its significance?

Then it occurred to him; these must be the Atlas Legions, and they were the ones charged with the task of making the Tower fly. It was members of this group whom Raziel had seen being transferred and deposited in the temple settlements outside. Somehow those crystal ley-lines acted as conduits of telekinetic power, directing and amplifying the Turelims' efforts throughout the fortress and keeping it aloft. The same thing must be happening in the other three lower towers, Raziel surmised.

Having deduced all this, he was forced to admit that there was nothing he could do here. Whatever magic he had left could destroy only a tiny fraction of the Legions present, and even if he managed to get close enough to use it, he would be swiftly wiped out by the remaining members. There was just too much power here, and though his death would not be final, it would achieve no purpose. Besides, he had to save his strength for when it was needed.

So resolved, Raziel now turned his attention to exiting this huge power generator. The human food mob had reached the steps and its members were happily moving to meet their fates. The upper level on which he resided was deserted. Raziel rose up and leapt silently from his perch to land with catlike grace. Stealing a glance at the hall, he checked to see if he had been noticed. No, all was well. The Turelim were intent upon their load bearing and the humans had eyes only for their heavenly masters.

Crouched low, Raziel crept unobtrusively up the side stairwell. Reaching the small door, he pulled it open a crack and slipped through just as the feeding began.

___________________________

Jehamiah rose up through the opening and hovered in midair. At sight of him, the guards who had been tensed for battle now relaxed. He acknowledged their vigilance with a satisfied nod and strode off to meet Turel as soon as the metal shield closed beneath him. There were more deaths to report.

Upon approaching he was surprised to see that his master seemed alert and ready for a change. Thinking bitterly that this was because he might bring word from Ellich De, Jehamiah decided to keep his message succinct.

The first lieutenant stopped before his father's throne and bowed.

"Others are dead, but we are ready for him," he stated simply.

Turel stared calmly at his firstborn. The tips of his claws tapped together slowly, making a harsh clicking sound that reminded his servant unpleasantly of the Zephonims' clacking limbs.

"Do you know why I am doing this, Jehamiah?"

The question was so unexpected that Jehamiah could only stare at his sire.

"The reason is," Turel continued without waiting for a response, "because it is my destiny."

Jehamiah nodded wordlessly in agreement, uncertain what had brought this on.

"I am the only one who can defeat him. And defeat him I must, to preserve our race and our rule. I have dwelled upon nothing else for over 700 years. The others lacked the means to prevail, crippled as they were from outside and within. It saddened me to see them brought so low."

Turel leaned forward suddenly, his hands convulsively clutching the arms of his throne. "But it was justice! They had erred in opposing me, and if you believe it was his hand that consigned them to death, you are mistaken. It was mine! Not for his vengeance but for my own have we come to this point!"

Turel was panting with fury, and his feverish eyes held the vampire marshal in their grip. Jehamiah was paralyzed by what he saw in their intensity.

"But I do not condone the loss of my children, Jehamiah!" Turel rasped harshly, his claws digging into his seat. "I show my love for you by actions, not words and vague hints of my own importance. I have taken steps to protect not only myself but you as well. It is through me that we will all be redeemed! Do you understand what I am saying?!"

Turel had risen to his full height, and the look on his twitching face was positively mad. He stared out now at the Turelim guards.

"Do you all understand? I will save my children! I am not like HIM!!"

Bewildered, Jehamiah stared up at his leader. Had you asked him why he could not explain it, but for some reason, he did not think Turel was referring to Raziel this time.

The first lieutenant glanced behind him at the other Turelim, and they too were gaping at Turel with expressions of worry and confusion. He turned back to his lord, concerned and uncertain what he could do to help, but Turel had resumed his seat and his face was once again calm and collected. The episode, whatever it was about, seemed to be over. Jehamiah was relieved but remained wary.

"My lord?" he queried. "Are you… dissatisfied with our preparations? Perhaps it would ease your concerns if a guard were placed about the Open Eye." Ellich De had always rejected such measures scornfully, implying ineffectiveness on the part of Jehamiah's troops. Jehamiah would relish the opportunity to see the haughty fool countermanded by Turel himself.

But when his master spoke next the lieutenant was disappointed. "Ellich De is now forewarned of our enemy. I do not believe he has anything to fear. But your concern is noted and appreciated, Jehamiah. I am sure your brother would be honored to hear of it."

Jehamiah quickly bowed to hide the look on his face.

"For now," Turel resumed thoughtfully, "We will await our foe here. Though the presence of my children will hearten me come the final battle, in the end only my hand will be needed to deliver the final blow."

___________________

When the voices came, Raziel froze in his tracks.

After leaving the great hall he had chosen a route upwards which he supposed would be deserted, leading as it did through craft rooms and a library of ancient lore. So far he had been correct; his progress on this level had been unimpeded. The narrow flight of steps he was on should lead to the rooms reserved for chronicling vampire history. From there it was only a short distance back to the main shaft and he would be halfway up the Tower.

So Raziel was naturally upset by this disturbance. He had not been expecting another battle here. What kind of Turelim would be reading at a time like this?

Unless, he thought with a groan, it was no longer a library. He kept forgetting how much time had passed since he had died.

Padding cautiously up to the landing, Raziel made his way to a small door. Pressing his ear against it he could hear shouting again, but it was curiously faint. It was possible that whoever was making the commotion was in another corridor leading to the library, and if Raziel was quick he could make it through the relatively small chamber before anyone else arrived. Of course, the speakers might be headed this way from the direction that he was intending to travel, but Raziel was tired of playing it safe. He was going to take his chances. With that, he jerked the door open and dashed in.

The Reaver of Souls skidded to a halt. He had been right. The library was gone.

More importantly, the floor was missing too.

He was now standing on a narrow iron gantry hundreds of feet above a great pool of water, and he was not alone. Several Turelim guards were stationed on other walkways that branched off from the main arm. One of them looked towards the door.

The portal closed with a soft click, but there was no one there.

The vampire crossed over to the door. Pulling it open, he peered down the staircase. Nothing.

Perplexed, the Turelim stood uncertainly for a moment. Then, with a dismissive shrug of his heavy shoulders, he turned and retraced his steps back to his position to concentrate once more on the show below.

Hanging by his claws beneath the gantry floor, Raziel too was interested in this exhibition.

Of all the things he had expected to find in Turel's stronghold, water was the last. Stealing Rahab's aquatic invulnerability had not completely erased his uneasiness for the element, having been executed by being tossed into the Lake of the Dead. All vampires but the Rahabim rightly shared his concerns. But far below him now, Raziel could see what appeared to be a group of Turelim fledglings. They were clustered in the center of a wide circular stone bay created by the intersection of granite walls that rose up out of the water. The walls crossed the hall at perpendicular angles, dividing the great lake into neat compartments. A Turelim elder stood atop one of these divides addressing the novices in a loud bellow. It was his voice that Raziel had heard before. Safely hidden, the Reaver listened with interest.

"Enough of your jabberings!" the elder roared. "As your captain it is my duty to see that you are properly trained for the coming assault. Since it has now been announced for one day from now, there is no time to waste."

One of the youngsters stood and voiced something that was beyond Raziel's hearing. But their leader's response was nothing if not audible.

"The matter of the intruder is best left up to your elders and betters! You will concentrate on preparing yourselves to best serve the Turelim cause when we set forth to bring the earthbound clans under our sway. Now hark unto me!"

Far above, Raziel's claws dug into the iron grate. For a moment he was too stunned to think. He knew that he had heard aright, but the prospect still left him aghast. There was more than just his own quest at stake here. Turel was well on his way to becoming the temporal ruler of Nosgoth!

He should have realized that his brother would have embarked on such an attempt. From what Ariel had told him, Turel had somehow received foreknowledge from Kain that his murdered elder would return someday. He must have known that Raziel would eliminate all his youngest siblings first and leave the strongest for last. With the other clans deprived of the leadership and protection afforded by his brothers, Turel could then step in and launch an offensive that would catch the bereaved vampire community off guard. From his brief meeting with Kain, Raziel had inferred that their Father no longer deigned to trouble himself with the day-to-day rule of Nosgoth. Obviously Turel intended to fill the void left behind by their indifferent sire, and he had relied on Raziel to dispose of his siblings so that Turel would not have to risk his own skin. He trembled with outrage at the enormity of his brother's presumption. Ariel had been right: Turel was a coward.

"Though it is unlikely fledglings such as yourself will be directed against them," the captain continued, "you must still learn effective strategy for combating the Rahabim. Keep in mind, these are no spindle-limbed web-eaters like Zephon's insects you were trampling yesterday." Derisive laughter came from the fledglings. "As dwellers in water, these fish cousins of ours remain our most powerful and elusive opponents. But even a strength can be a weakness."

At this the captain gestured to two adult Turelim standing against the chamber wall. Both of them were wearing rubber gloves, and so begarbed they withdrew from one of the light globes in the wall what appeared to be thick copper wires. These they then placed into the murky water before them. A great crackling and spitting of steam came up from where the metal came in contact with the lapping surface, and strange flashes of energy snapped up over the water. A muted howling could now be heard from the pool, and the Turelim on the catwalk began to laugh maliciously. Suddenly a form burst out of the water and landed on the bridge near the captain. It stood there, swaying groggily, and Raziel saw it was a Rahabim vampire.

The purpose of this place was now clear to him: it was a training hall for the Turelim warriors. Captives of the four other vampire clans were held here in the outlying buildings in environments similar to the ones they occupied on Nosgoth, where Turel's brood made sport with them to determine the best means of defeating the lesser clans. Raziel was sickened by this callow treatment of their fellow vampires but did not dare interfere. He had a mission of revenge to get back to, and with that he began to crawl quietly and surreptitiously along the bottom of the railing.

The Turelim captain was now advancing on his beleaguered quarry, egged on by his eager young followers' cries. The Rahabim, trapped and long used to this torture, was still not about to give up. Its throat swelled and it spat a blue glob of energy at its opponent. The captain responded with a telekinetic blast that cancelled the assault, then bore swiftly down on the wounded prey.

The injured Rahabim tried to lunge forward and bite him, but the captain dodged nimbly aside and slashed his talons through the vampire's back. It shuddered and tried desperately to dive back into the water, but the captain rushed in and grabbed it by the throat. He lifted the struggling, spitting creature off the ground, an evil sneer on his face. His students cheered raucously.

Raziel had now crossed the length of the combat range undetected. He was almost at the door leading out. What transpired below was none of his concern.

"And so it is done!" the captain bellowed triumphantly. The Rahabim was thrashing weakly and trying to bite him. "Of course you know, we are not supposed to permanently dispatch our practice toys here." He gave the Rahabim a rude shake. "But since after tomorrow there will be no need for their services, I will give you a final demonstration."

His claws tightened around the Rahabim's neck with bone crunching force. The vampire's eyes bulged out in panic.

"If the rest of them prove as uncooperative as this guppy," the captain called out happily, "you might all bear witness to another total clan purge, just like the one I experienced in my youth. What a rare treat that was!" He laughed joyfully.

The fledglings joined in.

A bolt of green energy streaked across the hall and struck the captain in the back. With a surprised cry he flew through the air and impacted against the wall, then slid down into the water. Immediately it devoured his flesh with searing hunger, and the captain's terrible shrieks filled the room before he sank beyond sight, thrashing in mortal agony. The Rahabim tore free of his burning grasp and, not questioning its good fortune, furiously sank its serrated teeth into its enemy's throat.

The fledglings were shouting in panic and cringing away from the water's edge, as if expecting to be dragged in at any moment. The two Turelim adults grasped long-handled metal hooks and tried determinedly to fish the captain out of the water to safety. The hooks caught hold, and they swiftly heaved their compatriot upward to hang dripping in the air for all to see. His head was missing.

The Rahabim shot out of the water in a high arc, the blistered head dangling triumphantly from its jaws. It dove back down and exited into a side drain, blissfully thanking Almighty Kain for this unexpected miracle.

On the catwalk, the Turelim charged out of the hall in pursuit of the enemy.

------------------------------

Raziel ran as fast as he could, scorning concealment in favor of speed. There was no regret for his rashness. He had enjoyed that!

The slight lead he had on his pursuers would not last long, but fortunately he was not far from regaining the center of the Tower. A spiral staircase began there that curved up the sides of the shaft and led directly to Turel's royal hall. The tunnel that housed this stairwell was open on the side looking out into the Tower's interior, to give one a view while climbing. This meant that any doors planted there recently would be no real hindrance in the Spectral Realm, since Raziel could simply vault over the balustrade and shimmy past them to regain the stairs. He was counting on Turel's vanity to have kept him from walling up the openings and thus depriving his people of another view of his precious architectural triumph. Barring some unforeseen disaster it was now a clear shot to the inner sanctum.

Raziel staunchly refused to think about what he would have to do when he reached his goal.

Upon arriving at the final door back to the main shaft he did not bother with opening it but simply kicked it down.

He stood now on a vast stone platform that spanned half the width of the Tower's central cavity. The long outer edge curved in a smooth crescent arc from one side of the shaft to the other, allowing a somewhat eclipsed view of the lower portion of the Tower and the entrance in the base far below.

But Raziel had no chance to appreciate the scenery. He was more concerned with the scores of Turelim turning to face him.

Before they could recover from the shock of his abrupt entrance, he quickly cast the Sound Glyph and brought those around him to their knees with ruptured eardrums.

There was not a second to lose. Raziel turned and dashed off to his left. The door he had entered by was only a few yards away from the great arched tunnel that was the platform's primary means of access. This was located near the tip of one of the platform's two points, and the portal to the stairs was set into the side of that tunnel. There was probably a door there now, but as soon as he got past it he could escape into the Spectral Plane and travel the steps in relative freedom.

Raziel plowed into the wide tunnel and headed for the stair entrance, firing bursts from the Soul Reaver behind him to hinder pursuit from any vampires unaffected by his spell. The entrance was only a few feet off, and to his surprise it was unblocked. A Turelim stood inside the stairwell, leaning weakly against the wall. Raziel brought about the Soul Reaver to clear the way with another blast.

Too late he saw the vampire raise its hand and flip a switch in the wall. Before Raziel could react, a heavy stone slab dropped between him and the Turelim, sealing him off from the stairs.

Raziel roared in frustration and spun around. The nearest enemy was already starting to climb to its feet. The stairwell opening actually started some forty feet beyond the edge of the platform, much too far for him to glide. He had to think of something fast.

A huge pulley was set in the wall on the other side of the tunnel. From it extended a heavy chain up to a raised portcullis above the tunnel entrance. Raziel lurched desperately towards it. The recovered Turelim were now bounding at him with furious intent. Just as they were almost upon him, Raziel reached the gear and slashed the Soul Reaver through the chain. It parted like wet paper, and the portcullis came thundering down. One Turelim dove towards him, but the points of the gate slammed home into the ground, impaling the vampire like a bug on a pin.

Trembling with exhilaration, Raziel backed up a few paces. The monsters were swarming around the portcullis, trying to heave it up and firing pulse blasts that failed to penetrate the thick iron bars. Safe for the moment, he turned and loped dejectedly down the hall. This too led eventually to the upper reaches, but it was more convoluted than the lost stairwell. There were many rooms and halls he would have to pass through between here and his destination, offering numerous chances for ambush and confrontation against him. And his magical reserves were close to drained. Raziel cursed disconsolately. He was not looking forward to another protracted spate of battles and hiding.

He turned a corner and was just debating whether or not to go to spirit form for a while when he suddenly stopped.

Turning he glanced about in puzzlement. Though this stretch of decorated hallway was identical to the next, there was something strangely familiar about it, something important.

Raziel tried to remember. A secret, wasn't it? But what…?

He had been here before… and not alone…

Then it came to him. Of course!

This was the entrance to the royal dining hall, the one Turel had concluded their first tour of the Tower on!

The use of this room was restricted to the imperial family of Kain, its location was kept a secret. One path opened out here, and the other…

The other led directly to Turel's throne room!

Raziel could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had only used this vault two times in his life, which from his point of view was only about fifty years ago. After his death, the clan leaders' already tenuously acrimonious existence with one another had deteriorated into fearful suspicion and isolation, lest they hazard the same fate as their eldest brother. Contact must have broken down completely. That meant these secret passages had probably not been used for centuries, and quite possibly were long forgotten by anyone. This was his best chance to catch Turel unawares. That is, he thought suddenly, if the passage was still there.

Fearful of what may or may not happen, Raziel edged over to a particular alcove set between two piers. Reaching up he traced one claw along the lines of a stylized relief just as he had seen Turel do before. He then pressed three seemingly unrelated designs.

With only a faint rumble of stone against stone, a portion of the wall slid down into the ground. An empty span of corridor stretched out before him. Quickly Raziel stepped inside and pressed a panel in the wall. The opening closed up behind him, and for the first time in hours, Raziel relaxed completely. He was safe.

This feeling lasted only a few moments. While thankful for this opportunity, Raziel was still suspicious. There was no light to be seen, and although he recalled the path was a fairly straightforward affair, he did not want to be caught unawares. The way might be booby-trapped somehow. With this in mind, the lone avenger deemed it wise to advance forward through the Spectral Realm.

Having performed the translation, Raziel found that, as expected, he could see his way clearly now. Spectral beings did not require light, and the corridor curved up ahead, seemingly unchanged and harmless. Satisfied, Raziel continued on his way.

The trek lasted nearly an hour. Murals along the walls depicting vampire history relieved the monotony. Raziel was surprised to see himself still evident in some pictures. He had assumed they would have been erased after his fall from grace.

Something else was beginning to trouble him. Though he had been traveling for some time, he had encountered no Sluagh, not even one. Abandoned and walled off though this area might be in the physical world, Raziel was curious at not finding any of the soul scavengers. The extravagant vampire banquets he and his brothers had held here must surely have left a rich and tempting depository of human souls that, in this time-shorn world, would have provided a feast for the carrion crows of the underworld.

Raziel proceeded with caution. On this twilight plane, he knew, there were predators far more perilous than Sluagh.

But no threat materialized, and eventually Raziel arrived at the Council's secluded pleasure chamber.

It was a circular room, about fifty feet across. The concave dome of the ceiling was connected to the floor by eight pillars that formed a ring in the middle of the area. Through the ring Raziel could see what appeared to be an oddly warped piece of statuary, but he paid it no heed. The metal gate that led to Turel's hall of rule was closed, as expected. Casting his eyes about, Raziel located a planar portal behind a pillar on the side of the room opposite the door.

He crossed around to the dimensional conduit. There was something nagging at him. Though faint, Raziel thought he could detect some kind of mystic energy in the air. It seemed to be coming from the twisted piece of art in the middle of the room. As he passed outside the ring he saw that along the inner surface of each pillar there was now a cluster of long spikes extending from about ten feet off the ground. This was a new and incongruous decoration for a vampire dining hall, where impalement on these instruments would mean death for their kind, at least temporarily.

Still, there did not seem to be any immediate danger. So Turel had developed some odd preferences in interior design. If the same held true for his throne room, Raziel might not have to look too hard to find a means of killing his brother. It had occurred to him that he would require some method beyond what he presently possessed to slay a vampire as powerful as Turel. The others had posed problems in that regard as well, and still he had overcome them all somehow.

But maybe, he though faintly as he prepared to cast the Shift Glyph, it would not come to that. Despite everything he had seen and experienced, a part of him still did not want to have to commit another fratricide, especially against a brother he had loved so deeply. Yes, Turel had destroyed him, but only at the insistence of Kain. No matter how his sibling had changed, if Raziel could only reach him, talk to him, he could explain that there was no reason to try and kill one another. Maybe then they could actually join forces against the father who had so cruelly abandoned them both. It was not impossible, he supposed.

As Raziel drifted back to the Material Plane, he thought he heard a faint warbling cry.

It prevented him from simply walking around the pillar to cross the hall. Instead, crouched behind the column, he risked a quick glance around its frame. As it turned out, this was a wise move.

A group of Turelim was standing in the center of the room.

Back pressed against the pillar, Raziel waited for his nerves to settle down. Curse it! He should have known this was too easy!

There were far too many to fight single-handed, and Raziel was unwilling to squander any more Glyph energy. For all he knew he might need every bit of it for the coming conflict, but he hoped he was wrong. If he were to successfully make it out of this chamber, he would have to rely on his wits.

His eyes drifted over the curved wall only a few feet in front of him. It was decorated with light carvings that swirled and danced up along the ceiling. It might just be possible…

Moving as quietly as he could, Raziel stepped over to the wall. He gently pressed his bony talons against it, digging into the crevices.

Yes, this could work. With that, he began to scale the wall.

Keeping the pillar between his body and the Turelim, he moved assuredly along the curve of the stone. The arachnid abilities he had inherited from Zephon's soul now served him well, enabling him to cling and adhere to surfaces he rightly had no place on.

Raziel reached the point where the pillar met the ceiling. No choice now, he would have to move into the open. He only hoped that he was high enough to be out of the Turelims' field of vision. Slowly, inch by inch, he crept out from behind the column and waited tensely, ready for combat.

No sound came from below. Glancing down, he saw that the vampires were absorbed in deliberation of the object in the center of the room. Breathing his thanks, Raziel crept laboriously along the curved roof of the hall.

As he went, though concentrating mainly on evading detection, Raziel gradually became aware of something. The mystic sensation he had received in the Spectral Realm was back, and much stronger now. Something in this room was causing it, and it was crazily familiar. He had felt something like this before, and recently. By now Raziel had maneuvered to the center of the ceiling. From there, he felt he was sufficiently concealed to spy on what was going on below. He craned his neck around to see.

From this vantage he could now see the room clearly. There were eight Turelim vampires arranged in a circle, each standing before a corresponding pillar. Their eyes were tightly shut, and streams of telekinetic power were flowing from their hands towards a great metal sphere that hung in the center of the room. Below this globe was a shifting pool of sand in a stone basin. Under the influence of their power the sphere was slowly rotating in the air. Another object, like a tiny stone effigy, was gliding above the surface of the globe, seeming to be moving slowly toward one of dozens of small glowing crystals embedded in the orb. Raziel noticed that in this strange enclave, one of their number, leaner and hungrier-looking than the rest, was emitting blue sparks of energy from his body, the unmistakable mark of an ultra-powerful life vampire. Raziel was reminded uncomfortably of Dumah.

There was something about that one's scent that stirred a memory in Raziel, as if he had encountered it before. Was it…?!!

No, not Turel. But dangerous all the same.

Still no closer to understanding this scene, Raziel's eye was attracted to something odd about the pillars. The spikes he had seen in the Spectral Realm were still there, but no longer were they unoccupied. There were bodies hanging on them, skeletal remains of some victims long dead and gone. But there was an irregularity to these corpses. One spike stuck out from their bony chests, but two others branched off to the sides and seemed to be supporting appendages of some kind. The corpses' arms were hanging at their sides. Were these freaks of some kind, with additional tiny arms growing out of their…

Backs…

It hit him with the force of death itself, a sweeping wave of furious realization.

Not arms! No, not arms!!

Wings!! _Wings_!!!

_THESE WERE HIS CHILDREN!!!_

His beautiful kin, brutally murdered and hung in this room like trophies of war, their undeveloped pinions that had doomed them set on prominent display!

As had happened once before with Dumah, Raziel lost control. With murder in his heart, he let go of the ceiling and dropped down onto the revolving globe, bringing up his talons to cast a spell that would burn these filthy murderers to ash.

A force slammed into him from all sides. It squeezed him like a walnut, a strength like iron bars crushing his limbs and making his head feel like it was going to rupture inwards. Raziel's glowing eyes bulged out with thwarted fury and pain, he made wretched gurglings as his bones threatened to snap.

Although the pounding cacophony in his ears did not subside, he distinctly heard someone laughing at him.

Raziel's mad eyes settled on the life vampire, who was shaking with mirth and displaying its yellow fangs in a sick grin. It bowed mockingly, and although nearly doubled over from laughing, its hands continued to emit the telekinetic attack that was acting in conjunction with the other vampires to crush Raziel's body.

"Ellich De, second lieutenant to Turel of the Turelim, bids courteous greeting to his master's most exalted and beloved sibling," he gushed dramatically, and Raziel suddenly recognized this degenerate.

Outraged at being brought low by this second-generation upstart, Raziel shook with rage but was prevented from responding by the telekinetic death-grip that held him prisoner. The force pressing around him felt like it was going to burst him at any moment, but the insanity that had possessed him before was still leaping and churning within, screaming out for death, any death. Like a furiously burning star collapsing under its own weight he hung there, a locus of conflicting forces.

"Are you pleased to see me?" Ellich De inquired innocently. "Of course you are, and rest assured that the feeling is mutual. Do you know that we were aware of your presence in our tunnels as soon as you set foot in them? But I was so thrilled at the prospect of seeing you again that I simply had to let you join us. How very unrealistic of you to assume that our lord had overlooked the existence of these passages."

Raziel groaned bloodily in response, the hatred building up in him until he thought he must explode.

"Ah, yes, speaking of Turel," Ellich De exclaimed ecstatically, "We must inform him that he must present himself here for an impromptu family reunion. You do know that he has been eagerly expecting your arrival."

Ellich De's joyfully leering face seemed to loom before Raziel, but in his eyes there was no humor, only coldly calculating viciousness. "Won't it be so cheerfully nostalgic, all of us here, the long-lost rebel and his honored brother…" His voice took on a sneeringly insinuating tone. "And their children?"

The pressure around Raziel seemed to double, and the fury sundering his body blazed with thwarted intensity. From his throat burst an unholy scream. His glowing eyes flared with a blinding light, the facewrap ripped away from his features, and Raziel's body exploded in an eruption of mystic energy.

The ragged cloth floated down and settled to the floor.

---------------------------------

In the Spectral Plane, Raziel slumped weakly against the distorted globe. He had not felt this level of exhaustion since first arriving in the pit. It would be some time before he was back to full energy, but thankfully, time was something he had aplenty. He would abide here until his strength was restored, and then he would return to the real world and manage, somehow, to have his revenge!

An unearthly moaning sounded nearby, and Raziel started up. It was the same noise that had accompanied him into the real world, the one that had put him on his guard. But now it was different.

Now there was more than one.

Looking up, Raziel saw, floating down from around the ceiling, the most dangerous entities on the Non-corporeal Plane: vampire wraiths.

Raziel staggered to his feet as more than half a dozen of the black-robed monsters descended to surround him, their eager calls sending a tremor of fear through his soul. He had fought these creatures before, but never in such numbers, and in his present condition he could not afford to risk such a challenge. This explained the lack of Sluagh on the way here. He had to escape. If they overwhelmed him, he would be banished back to the Elder's Lair, and he would have to break into Turel's Tower all over again.

Before he could formulate a plan, the first one dove at him.

Raziel reeled back and swung the Soul Reaver. Both attacks went wide of their targets, but as Raziel righted himself unsteadily, another wraith saw its chance and raked its talons along his back. He cried out and swung around instantly, driving the Soul Reaver through the wraith before it could begin siphoning off his energy. It stumbled back out of reach, briefly opening a hole in the wall of death, and Raziel leapt desperately forward at this chance of escape.

A wraith slammed into him, bearing Raziel to the ground. The Reaver was already exhausted, and the force of the blow proved too much for him. The wraiths clustered about him, their hungry wails taking on an eager hymn. The one that had felled him swiped its claws across his back, but Raziel hardly felt it. He knew he had failed now, and that whatever advantage he had against Turel would soon be lost. As the energy flowed from his spirit form into the wraith's greedy mouth, Raziel was at least glad that he had so little energy left it would not feed these devils much. The world began to fade around him, his thoughts and regrets mixing and flowing in his mind.

A strange cry broke above him suddenly, and the draining transfer stopped.

Blearily, Raziel raised his head to see what had saved him.

The wraith that had attacked him had risen off his body. The others swarmed in, but that one lunged forward, striking at them angrily, and they swiftly dispersed, crying out in rage and confusion. Raziel shared in their bewilderment. What was happening?

The lone wraith now lowered itself beside him, and Raziel could do nothing but stare into its shadowy hood. His vision must be fading, because he could swear that the wraith's eyes were gray, not red.

Its murky features came closer, and it was now making odd sounds, different from the empty moans of before. There almost seemed to be sense to them: a noise, repeated over and over again. Raziel strained to hear it. The wraith bent in to his ear.

Gradually it became clear.

"Father!"

_To be continued…_


	6. Ch5: Apotheosis

Within the Chronoplast, arcane mechanisms moved with infinite precision, coming into contact briefly, then parting to continue their revolutions, a scraping sigh marking their passing. The various gears, hooks, and unnamed instruments whirled and spun, functioning in purposeful unison. Their progress served to record and catalogue time. One might almost believe that this fantastic contraption was aware, or at least alive. Whatever the case, its workings continued unimpeded as they had for millennia, reaching out with metal fans and spirals to catch the currents of time. Its design held many secrets.

And Kain knew them all.

The God of Nosgoth stood within the monstrous cavern whose walls hid the eternal labors of the Chronoplast. The power contained therein was subtle, but palpable. Kain could feel it even now. It crawled over his skin like the machine's lifeless breath to settle in his brain, seeking a will strong enough to harness its potential. Kain was not found lacking.

He issued it a command, though no words were uttered. The endless whirring and clicking of the Chronoplast seemed to slow, as if considering the order. Then it swept smoothly back to life, the pause and altered beat audible only to Kain's well-trained ear. He relaxed momentarily, considering his options. So much still needed to be done in preparation, but he felt that he had accomplished a good deal already. He was not tired, nor intimidated by the work that lay ahead. But still, instead of continuing in his orchestration, he paused.

Was it happening now?

Kain knew the enormity of his self-appointed task, but the urge to slip away, if only for a while, stayed with him. Surely he could take a moment to check on the progress of events. He had always savored some of the less potent functions of this hall, they being the first he had uncovered. It was still exciting to watch events take shape.

At length Kain made his decision and stalked out of the chamber, leaving the Chronoplast to complete the duties he had assigned it.

He moved up the sloping corridor, passing portals of eerily shifting mists that swirled and receded as he moved by. He knew them all by heart, and so he recognized precisely which one he wanted when he came to it. Kain stopped before the portal, and at his presence the mists surged suddenly, then faded, allowing a picture to form before his eyes. Kain leaned forward eagerly, intrigued in spite of himself. He never tired of this. In the portals down the hall to one side of him resided the past, and on the other side lay the future. But this one, he knew, was calculated to show this time, the present.

An image appeared, showing a crouching figure with a gleaming spirit blade surrounded by black-garbed monsters.

Kain settled in to watch.  
_________________________

Raziel hunkered down on the lip of the stone basin, letting the ambiance of the Spectral Plane restore him gradually . Around him hovered eight vampire wraiths. Cellidane and two others were moving about among the rest, their glowing gray eyes distinguishing them from the crimson glares that continued to peer out from their cohorts' hoods.

As Raziel watched, Cellidane approached one of the red-eyed wraiths. It hissed in a hollow rasp and backed away, its claws raised warningly. But Cellidane did not pause. From her unseen mouth a stream of softly glowing gray light emerged and coiled toward the wraith. It lashed out frantically, but the light surged forward and entered its occluded cowl.

The vampire wraith flailed about for a moment, then grew still. Its hood came up, revealing eyes that now gleamed gray. From a mouth that only moments before could only wail inarticulately, a voice now spoke, "Cellidane?"

Cellidane drifted forward to clasp its hands. "Welcome back, Jero."

The two of them floated off to help the others bring the last of them around, and Raziel could only silently marvel at what had just occurred. To think that upon being banished to the Spectral Realm by Turel's minions, he should be set upon by vampire wraiths, only to discover after they had fed upon his spirit that they were the souls of Razielim vampires, his own clan. The infusion of his being into one of their own had liberated it from the memory-shorn existence of the wraith, revealing itself to both of them as Cellidane, Raziel's own first lieutenant from when he was a vampire clan leader. After the initial shock had worn off, Cellidane had proceeded to transfer some of her own awakened essence to the seven other wraiths present. Though eager to help, Raziel had been too weak to be of service. It was all he could do to just sit and wait for his strength to be restored. But as he watched more of his long-dead children come back to themselves, Raziel was filled with an emotion that he had never thought he would experience again: happiness.

As the transfers continued, Raziel suddenly became aware that someone was watching him. Turning he saw one of the newly rejuvenated wraiths regarding him intently. Upon being discovered it quickly looked away.

Raziel stared at the wraith for a few moments. Then slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet. Around him the other wraiths, moving in on their last defensive sibling, paused to watch. With unsteady steps, Raziel approached the Razielim. It flinched away from him, but he persisted in reaching out a talon to touch its hood. At this the wraith slowly, almost guiltily, raised its shrouded features to meet his glowing white eyes with its gray ones.

"Do I know you, child?" Raziel asked softly.

The wraith continued to watch him, trembling. It nodded its head haltingly.

"I am Ikarus, my lord," it whispered in a familiar voice.

Raziel inclined his head in remembrance. This was one of Cellidane's own children, but a fairly young one. Raziel had met him several times before as one of Cellidane's personal aides. The juvenile vampire had struck him as being unassuming but extremely devoted to his mistress. In fact, Raziel had sometimes wondered if the fledgling's feelings towards the vampire lady ran deeper than just loyalty. This sort of relationship was not frowned upon by vampires, there being no reason, whether biological or otherwise, to decry it. When one was immortal, family connections were no hindrance to personal interactions. But Cellidane, Raziel knew, had looked elsewhere to find her pleasure, something he intended to discuss with her shortly. All the same, it came as no surprise to Raziel that Ikarus should have remained by Cellidane's side even after death.

"I am glad to see you again, Ikarus," Raziel spoke out loud. "You are welcome to my eyes."

Ikarus cast his gaze downward. "I… thank you, my lord." He bowed respectfully.

Raziel nodded in approval. Around him the other wraiths returned their attention to the last holdout, and soon all eight of the phantoms present had been restored to an awareness of themselves. So united, they clustered eagerly about their patriarch, who had resumed his place on the basin beneath the floating Nosgoth globe.

The Reaver of Souls looked about him carefully. For the moment he was too overwhelmed to say anything.

"My liege," one of the wraiths spoke then. All, including Raziel, turned to regard it. The wraith hesitated, then bowed reverently.

"Sejm," he began with his name in the traditional vampire introduction. "I am Razielim, who are…"

The vampire spirit stopped. Some of his fellows' robes rustled, and low rumbles of disquietude came from their cowls, for the rest of this mantra ran "first clan and claw on the hands of Kain."

Before the awkward silence could go any further, Cellidane floated forward.

"You are Razielim, who form their own fist now," she told Sejm firmly.

Raziel nodded to his child, and another wraith rose to make his acquaintance. Soon all had been named, and Raziel found that of those present, only Cellidane and Ikarus were known to him. The rest were very young, some not even born in his time. But they were still his children, his clan, and he was not alone anymore. It felt so good just to be near them, he almost forgot their wretched conditions.

Then Cellidane glided towards him. "Father," she spoke, and there was compassion mixed with pain in her voice. "What has been done to you?" She reached out a claw to touch his face and Raziel realized for the first time that his clan symbol face-wrap was gone, exposing his ruined features and missing lower jaw.

"I shall tell you," he spoke in a sepulchral whisper. "And then you must reveal the events behind your own predicament."

* * *

So began a very bizarre conference.

Raziel detailed to his audience what had befallen him since his execution, how he had risen in the Underworld lair of the mysterious Elder God, who had informed him of Nosgoth's peril from the vampire dynasty and empowered him to seek out and destroy his brothers and father. The Razielim, most of whom had never even seen their legendary founder, crowded in expectantly as he narrated of his battles against Dumah, Melchiah, Rahab and Zephon. Some even cried out in shock when he told of his encounter with Kain himself, and how he had lost the fight but gained the Soul Reaver. He tried to keep his tale short, but his appreciative listeners plied him with eager questions, craving more details about Ariel and the abominable secret behind Kain's resurrection of the six vampire brothers. There was, of course, time to spare here, where time was relative only to each other and not to anyone in the outside world. But soon Raziel called a halt to their interrogation, although the Razielim were not the only ones to be disappointed. Finally he informed them of his perilous journey through the floating Tower, culminating in his thwarted confrontation with Ellich De and return to the Spectral Realm.

At this last point in the story, Raziel noted a certain apprehension in Cellidane's manner. The others too were silent and some looked to their lieutenant, as if expecting something from her.

Raziel gazed upon his flustered child. He had some idea of what was at work here, but he needed confirmation from Cellidane. She had to reveal to him what no one else could.

"Cellidane," he spoke commandingly, and she looked up. "Tell me now, and hold nothing back. What transpired to our clan after my execution?"

Her black robes shivered slightly, as if containing some powerful dread at what she knew was coming. Close beside her Ikarus stretched out an arm to touch her, but she raised a claw to forestall him, and he drew back worriedly. Then the Razielim lieutenant faced her sire squarely and began to speak in a terse, low voice.

"At first… we were only confused. We all knew something had happened to you, but we had no idea what. I felt your pain from afar, but that was all. When you did not reappear, I sought an audience with Kain and the other clan leaders, but was repulsed. Other avenues of communication fared me no better."

"Then reports began to come to me, of fledglings born with strange abnormalities. At first I did not comprehend the meaning, but when I too began to experience the changes, I came to realize that we were all, every Razielim, undergoing the same transformation that had inexplicably overtaken you, my lord. We were gaining our wings. And that was when our doom descended."

The other Razielim voiced angry outbursts, but Raziel silenced them with a gesture. They obeyed instantly, and Cellidane continued.

"All the clans came against our enclaves in full force. Caught unprepared, we were routed and driven from the cities. Although still the strongest of all the clans, the disparity between our forces' numbers hung heavy against us, and they had Kain and the Council behind them. But while defeated, we did manage to learn from some captured enemies that you had been executed most basely, and that Kain had called for our total annihilation. All because of the wings."

"No!" Raziel shook his head sternly. "Because of Kain. He is the force behind our race's demise, not we."

The Razielim shouted their approval. He could not see it, but from the sound of her voice he thought Cellidane was smiling. "Yes. Of course you are right, my lord. At any rate, the loss of you robbed us of our heart, and the brutal downturn of our role in the world devastated us. There was no succor to be found anywhere. All the clans, even the Melchahim, were bent upon our destruction. We knew that no quarter would be given. Some of us tried to disguise ourselves, to blend in amongst the other vampires and work from within to help us. But in the end, the wings gave us away. As they grew larger, no amount of covering could conceal them. After only five years, we all boasted pinions that could, with the aid of wind currents, propel us through the sky with ease."

"But by then it was all but over. Our clan was scattered across the earth. We heard tales of gruesome bonfires made of our kin, of fledglings staked out in pools of sunlight. As we roamed the land in search of safety, we sometimes came across forests of long spears with Razielim impaled upon them, their heads shorn from their bodies to insure they would never return." Cellidane's voice was hoarse with grief, and the other wraiths bowed their heads in sorrow. Raziel allowed her a moment to collect herself.

"For forty years we fought them," Cellidane finally continued, "But our numbers dwindled, and we were denied any opportunity to replenish them. We were always starving, cut off from the human food supplies. We tried raiding them, but it proved too costly. Eventually we gave up and became reconciled to the constant hunger. By this time I was the recognized leader of the clan, a shrunken and desperate shade of its former magnificence. I sent word to the surviving bands to go into hiding. I did not know if any others even still existed to receive my commands, but the attempt had to be made. We lurked in deep mountain caves and near the ocean shorelines where vampires dared not tread. In this way we managed to hold on for sixty years."

"And we could have remained so for much longer," a Razielim named Thraim spoke out. Cellidane flinched in response, and Ikarus leaped at the vampire furiously. Before they could come to blows, the Soul Reaver swept between them, its dangerous glare falling over their shrouded forms with a perilous warning matched in Raziel's eyes.

"Enough!" his voice cracked menacingly, and both of the wraiths moved grudgingly back.

Raziel turned again to his first lieutenant. "Pray continue, Cellidane," he urged her softly.

When she spoke next, Cellidane's words were cold and distant, like she was relating a story someone else had told her once. "We were secluded in the mountains near the border of Turel's territory. He and his Turelim were always the most savage in our persecution. They claimed to be following Kain's will, but I believe they truly enjoyed seeing us brought low. They resented you, and us. During the fight for our capital, I challenged Jehamiah to personal combat, to buy our people time to escape, but was forced to flee when Turel joined the fray. Yet for all their ardor, the remnants of our clan remained unnoticed by them in the caves."

"But we were starving, and close to despair. There did not seem to be anything left to do. Some of the elders who still worshipped Kain were counseling that we should give ourselves up to him and pray for mercy. But I knew this was folly. Others had tried this before, and their only reward was to die quickly. The fledglings were growing more panicked and desperate. Finally I thought there was only one recourse left to me, one possible ally we could turn to. I…"

"I left the caverns and flew out to find him."

Raziel growled inwardly, and Ikarus too seemed to share his wrath. They both knew to whom Cellidane had turned.

"Ellich De," the Reaver of Souls cursed.

Cellidane nodded miserably.

Raziel swore, but it was not aimed at his lieutenant. When still a clan leader, he had noticed the relationship developing between his first-born daughter and Turel's then-third lieutenant. He had noticed, and disapproved. It was not a question of propriety. He would not have cared if she had sought the company of Turel himself. Raziel simply did not like the devious Turelim underling. It was nothing he could put his finger on, the vampire's personality just bothered him. This ineffable quality was what Turel had laughed at when Raziel had broached the subject to him.

"Are you now trying to dictate to me on my own children, Raziel? You are my brother, not my father," Turel teased him while on a Hunt together.

"Come now, Turel, be serious," Raziel had interjected. "Surely you perceive there is something wrong with him."

"Oh yes, of course I do. His fallacy is obvious for all to see. He is in love with your daughter. Should you toss him into the Lake of the Dead or shall I?" Turel burst out laughing.

Raziel had glowered darkly, and Turel swiftly dropped further attempts at humor.

"I admit to some apprehension myself, Raziel, but Ellich is extremely clever and ferociously loyal. These are not attributes I regard as character flaws. He may be given to excess, but he has offered me no real reason to rebuke him. And he seems to care for her. Do not be offended, brother, but perhaps you should endeavor to change your child's feelings and not mine."

Raziel had paused thoughtfully. "Very well, I shall."

He had tried, and failed. Cellidane had stubbornly refused to part ways with Ellich De, and Raziel had resigned himself to their continued interaction with ill humor.

He now cursed himself for not slaughtering the grinning bastard on the spot.

Cellidane had resumed her narrative.

"Turel and Jehamiah had been blatant in their pursuit of our kind. But in all the times I questioned survivors, not once did I hear of Ellich being involved in any attacks." Her voice now held a powerful undercurrent of shame. "I took this as a sign, that he cared enough about me to wish us no harm, possibly even enough to aid us. I flew to the Tower one night and made my way in."

"When I found him, it seemed like all my hopes were realized. He held me, told me he loved me and could never stand to see me slain. He listened as I told him of our plight, and promised us help. He told me of food stores only a short distance from the desert, in a canyon. If I went there in two days, he would make sure it was deserted of Turelim. He had the authority."

"I was so relieved, I never doubted. Returning to our dwelling, I told all of our good fortune. Though some expressed doubt, the opportunity was too good to pass up. At length I consented to exercise some caution, and took only my aides to attend the meeting."

"When we arrived at the appointed time, the storage facility seemed bereft of its guards. All eight of us could smell the humans locked in their pens, and the thought of food maddened us. We descended on a building and tore it open."

"The blood-hunger was so strong. I can only assume that was why we did not scent the trap."

"The Turelim descended on us in the darkness with nets and cudgels. We were overwhelmed and beaten into submission, then chained and taken from that place. I wondered why we had not been killed outright, but soon it became clear."

Cellidane now spoke in a bitterly hateful tone. "From words that I had let slip to Ellich, Turel had divined our location. He allowed us the time to reach the rendezvous because he wanted me and any other leaders of the clan captured alive. Then he raided the caves. We were brought there, forced to bow in shackles at Turel's feet, while his warriors returned from the caverns with what prisoners they cared to bring. These were tortured to death in front of us, and for hours we listened to them scream. Turel told us that ours was the last holdout to fall. We cursed him, challenged him and his captains to face us in open combat like warriors. Jehamiah accepted, but Turel overruled him, and we were left to watch helplessly as the bodies, hundreds of them, were piled into a great heap and burned."

"When all was done, we were taken back to the Tower, to this very room. Ellich De was waiting for us."

"I still had not believed," Cellidane snarled. "I thought he had been captured and forced to tell of our meeting. But he was laughing when they dragged us in, and there before our eyes Turel conferred on him the rank of second lieutenant."

"I cursed him, called him traitor and coward. Ikarus…" she glanced in his direction, "...tried to attack Ellich, chained as he was, but Turel's attendants caught him and impaled him on the spikes. Then they did the same to the rest, until only I remained. Ellich De beseeched Turel for the honor of killing me, and he acquiesced. That last insult gave me the strength I needed, and with all my power I broke my chains and lunged at Turel and the traitor, hoping to tear their heads off before they could finish me."

"Jehamiah caught me before I reached either of them. He picked me up and cast me onto the spikes. As I died, I heard Ellich De upbraiding Jehamiah for stealing his glory, and Turel laughing. It faded then, and was gone."

Cellidane looked up at Raziel. "I remember nothing else, until you returned to us, my lord."

For a moment following the end of her story, there was silence. No one dared speak as they all looked to their ancestral prime.

Then Raziel climbed to his feet. During Cellidane's tale, he had felt his strength returning, and upon her completion he finally sensed his power was restored fully. He was strangely calm, something he had not expected. Cellidane's recitation of his clan's final moments had failed to incite the killing wrath he had first experienced upon viewing their pitiably maimed corpses in the physical world. If anything, he felt at peace. After all this, one thing was abundantly clear to him.

He could now kill Turel without a qualm.

The lord of the Razielim gazed around him at his children. It should never have come to this, he thought. In the end, the mightiest vampire clan had been destroyed for the sick amusement of selfish beings. What human had ever been so base and cruel?

"It is not just that this be so," he spoke out loud.

That was when it happened.

It was in the eyes of his children, a pearlescent gray power, cold and strong and unstoppable. Raziel closed his own, feeling an awesome change run through him.

He knew why he felt no rage. The emotion was too small for what he had become. Up until now, he had killed out of revenge, his fury and recrimination fueling his actions. He had called this justice, but he had been wrong.

Finally Raziel came to understand. Surrounded by his children, all unjustly murdered, he felt the force connecting them, binding them all in an alliance of will and spirit. Always before, he had looked on his new existence in terms of what he had been before. No longer. He was not a former clan leader or a vampire, not a former anything. Neither were they. Here in the smoky lands without sun or life they had all become truly divine beings, entities of purpose, existing to carry out great deeds that would change the world and shape the future.

He served no masters. A higher calling belonged to him. Raziel, the Reaver of Souls, was no longer a killer, an Angel of Death.

For the sake of the ones he loved he was, now and forever, an Angel of Justice.

Raziel's thoughts came down slowly from this prodigious epiphany. He saw flashes of his previous life, traveling with Turel and serving Kain. He watched as he slaughtered his brothers and devoured their souls. All had been necessary to bring this realization about. He had taken his revenge. Now he would have justice.

Starting with his children.

He stepped down from the rise and strode purposefully forward. The circle of wraiths parted before him. Raziel moved across the room to stand over the planar portal. He felt its cool waves of promising energy lapping over him, and raised his hands to cast the Shift Glyph.

A powerful claw grabbed his arm.

Turning, he stared calmly into Cellidane's hood.

"You are returning? To kill him?" she inquired pensively.

"Kill them all," he corrected her lightly.

"But," she protested, "They have already defeated you once before. Not even your magic was enough to stop them."

"True," Raziel conceded. He glanced meditatively over at the other Razielim, still clustered uncertainly in the ring of pillars. "I have given the matter thought, and I believe I have one recourse available to me. Unfortunately, its effectiveness is relative to my position to the enemy. 'Tis a pity this portal could not be closer to the center, but I will make do somehow."

Cellidane's cowl dropped down to stare at the floor, and Raziel reached forward to clasp her shoulders. "Nothing would give me greater joy than to have you join in this battle with me, Cellidane. I know it grieves you to be trapped here while Ellich De languishes in the arms of life unending. Take solace, for I will soon send his soul winging to accompany you, if only for a moment."

Cellidane did not respond. Drawing aside from her, Raziel raised a claw in parting to his remaining children and stepped once again into the portal.

"Father!"

Raziel paused.

Cellidane's head was up and her eyes were sparkling triumphantly.

"I can help you." She gestured urgently to the others. "We all can."  
__________________________

The flash of power faded, the eldritch echoes died away, and Ellich De brayed with hysterical laughter.

Staggering forward, he bent down and picked up Raziel's face-wrap. Upon straightening up he noticed the other denizens of the Open Eye still staring dumbfounded at the spot Raziel had just vacated. That was unwise of them, he snickered gruesomely.

"Unless you would prefer for me to rip your hearts from your bodies," Ellich De announced with a sick grin, "you will kindly direct your attention to Raziel's imminent point of return rather than his place of departure."

Much to his satisfaction, seven pairs of eyes instantly swung to the pillar behind which Raziel had first appeared.

Ellich De felt a shiver of excitement race up his spine. While continuing to work on sensing Raziel's forthcoming presence in the room or the corridor beyond, he held up the faded wrap before his eyes. Judging by the clan markings, this must have originally been Raziel's clan cape. How thrilled Turel would be to have this as a trophy. By now, every vampire in the castle must have felt the sudden lurch of thwarted inertia as the Tower came to a halt. The others were not so advanced as he to have attacked Raziel and kept the Tower moving. Soon Turel would investigate, maybe even in person, and Ellich De would place the cape in his master's claws just before he called Turel's attention to the captured Raziel. He smiled in anticipation of Turel's praise. He would be greatly rewarded for his efforts, no doubt with the position of first lieutenant. Not that the title would lend him any greater power than he already possessed, but just to see the look on Jehamiah's pompous first-generation face; that would be supremely satisfying.

Caught up in dreams of glory, Ellich De's thoughts were interrupted by a cry from one of his subordinates.

"Sir Ellich!"

Immediately the Turelim lieutenant focused his attention on the point where Raziel must be returning. But to his surprise, there was nothing there. Angrily he rounded on the offending vampire, whereupon he saw that it was pointing at something behind him.

Pivoting swiftly, ready for anything, Ellich De was still shocked by what he saw.

On the pillar behind him, the shrunken corpse of Cellidane was crumbling into dust.

Ellich De cried out upon seeing his prize abandoning him. Turning about, he witnessed the seven other corpses on their stakes all following the same fate. Each body was deteriorating into a sickly gray ash, but much too swiftly to be natural. Mystified, the entire coven could only stare in bewilderment.

Around them, a hot wind began to blow.

It whipped through the room, sounding a high, menacing note. The wind sent ripples through the vampire ashes, picking them up and spreading them throughout the chamber. The Turelim sputtered and shook their heads as it clogged their mouths and stung their eyes. They fired force blasts to no avail through the blinding dust cloud.

"Stay calm!" Ellich De shrieked furiously. "This is only a trick! Prepare to strike when he appears!"

The flustered Turelim responded with swift assent, resuming their positions before their pillars.

The gale screamed even louder. Without warning, the dust in the air began to move purposefully, coalescing in the center of the room over the Nosgoth globe. A hurricane of gray powder raged in the middle of the Open Eye. Within it, a shape began to take form, an upright figure of man-like appearance. Amazed, Ellich De stared up into the piercing eyes of Raziel.

"Attack!" the Turelim sorcerer screamed.

His followers responded instantaneously. As Raziel's body appeared atop the globe, they launched their combined assault. From all sides, a deluge of psychic power thundered into Raziel.

The Reaver of Souls stiffened.

And suddenly, inexplicably, he began to spin.

Faster and faster he whirled about, his arms tucked in at his sides. The demon wind continued to shriek, and Ellich De was aghast. He could feel his own telekinetic attack being sucked into Raziel, seemingly offering him no harm. He broke off his assault and staggered back, staring wildly about him. The other Turelim were shouting in confusion and continuing to pour their unified strength forth uselessly.

Ellich De glared up at the blurred figure, and he bared his fangs with a guttural snarl. Suddenly springing forward, he launched himself screaming at his nemesis, his claws outstretched to shred flesh. He bellowed insanely, a colossus of magic and hate.

In a split second Raziel snapped to a halt. His arms swept out.

From out of his body burst an overpowering wave of telekinetic might as he invoked the Force Glyph.

Enhanced by the Turelims' attacks, the sphere of force blasted out on all sides. It slammed into the howling vampires, lifting them off their feet and hurling them backwards. Ellich De rebounded away from Raziel and soared shrieking through the air straight at the pillar behind him.  
And at the cluster of spikes that adorned it.

An unholy cry of pain tore the air as Ellich De smashed into the column, impaling himself on the deadly shafts. An instant later his underlings met a corresponding fate. Thrown back by Raziel's spell, they were skewered with slithering scrapes of metal punching through flesh and bone. Moaning desperately, they lingered suspended on the very instruments which only moments before had boasted the Razielims' corpses.

The Turelims' pleas died out, and their bodies fell limp as death stole over them. Their souls rose out to hover momentarily before vanishing from this plane.

Only Ellich De remained.

Twitching and gurgling, he hung on display, his legs kicking aimlessly. The gory spears protruded from his chest. Raziel vaulted down off the great metal sphere and moved slowly forward to stare up into the vampire's crimson eyes. Ellich De's jaws gaped, and a bloody froth burst from his mouth to run down his chest. Raziel watched him struggle impassively. Reaching up, he removed his clan wrap from the Turelim's grip.

"There is no need to linger on my part, Ellich De," he spoke quietly as he wound the fabric about his face again. "Another craves your company far more than I."

With a final pitiful whimper, Ellich De hung still.

* * *

The world seemed to twist in on itself, the colors flowing and blending together to merge into a great white emptiness. The pain went away. Then his sight came back, but darker. He suddenly realized that he was free to move, and promptly did so. Looking about at his suddenly monotone surroundings, he saw no sign of his killer. No further peril. Once again he inhabited the afterlife as a vampire wraith.

The predator had not followed him. Souls were nearby, beings he had once known but who were now nothing more than helpless prey. He would consume them, and then he would fly swiftly, find a way out to reach the prince who lived on this world and the other. Had to warn the prince. About the predator. The prince would protect him from it. Then the prince would move about in the world of light, hunt the predator. Rend him and imprison him. Afterwards the prince would remove the barrier that blocked the wraith from returning to the world of light, and he would be reborn.

An eerie moan sounded close by, and the wraith froze.

He looked about, and squealed in terror as eight other wraiths swept up around him.

He lurched away in panic, but the wraiths paid him no heed. Instead they streaked about, chasing the bobbing balls of life. He understood. Their territory. Good then. They eat and he leaves. Had to get to the way out. The lone wraith turned towards the door, when a strange sound came from behind it.

"Hello, my love."

The wraith turned about, and Cellidane ripped her claws through its face.

It staggered back, gurgling in agony, and Cellidane moved in for the kill. She viciously plunged her talons into the cloaked form, and the creature reeled away in terror. Its strength was gone, its body was transparent and weak. No, no, not this one, this one is not prey, leave it be! Helpless and confused, the wraith staggered haltingly away from the attacker, wailing in despondent fear.

Cellidane watched him go. He was no longer a threat. She did not raise a hand to stop him.

Instead she opened her mouth.

Almost out of the room, the wraith wasjerked back. It felt its substance stretch and change, and it squealed again. Thrashing in mortal dread, the wraith was sucked towards its attacker's hood. It was now a stream of energy, and as it descended mournfully into the lightless reaches of the cowl, the wraith heard the odd sounds again.

"There is no glory in death, Ellich De!"  
______________________

Alone now in the chambers of the Open Eye, Raziel glanced casually about the room. His new body seemed stronger and more supple than his previous forms. Cellidane had been correct. Though unable to return to their own bodies, the Razielim had been able to cut their earthly ties to the immortal flesh, then had used their spirit powers to craft their remains into a form that Raziel could inhabit. In this way he had been able to appear back in the real world wherever he wished, and thus had chosen a position from which he could best employ the Force Glyph. As he had suspected, the telekinetic spell had rendered him impervious to the Turelims' assault during the casting, and its unleashed power, while inflicting no direct harm, was perfectly suited to casting all of the vampires onto the very stakes they had used on his children.

Raziel examined the room's new ornaments, taking an icy satisfaction from this outcome. Then he headed without further preamble towards the gate to Turel's throne hall. He would now do whatever it took to destroy the Turelim prince and his crazed dream of world domination.

_Father, wait!_

He halted. _No time, Cellidane. I must confront Turel before he can muster his forces against me here. This could be my only chance._

_You do not understand, Father. We can still be of assistance to you_, she insisted.

Raziel chuckled._ If all goes well, I will not be visiting you again during this conflict, so I do not see how that is possible._

_But you will_, Cellidane spoke confidently,_ if you remove your vanquished opponents from their perches._

Now Raziel laughed out loud. _I am sorry, Cellidane, but you are clearly unaware what having a vampire's soul consumed entails for its body in this…_

His thoughts trailed away. Swinging about, Raziel stared around him in astonishment.

_Why… _he finally managed, _Why have they not begun to dissolve?_

It was true. Hanging on every pillar, the Turelims' bodies remained as solid and unchanged as ever. This contradicted all his previous ample experience on the matter.

_Cellidane, have you not yet devoured their souls?_

_Trust me, Father_, she responded. _Take them down._

Perplexed, Raziel stepped over to one of the columns. The Turelim's feet dangled directly above him. Reaching up, he grasped it by the ankles and pulled outward. The spikes in the pillars protruded at an upward angle, and Raziel was only able to move the corpse about halfway along their length. After a few moments he abandoned that approach and, taking a firm hold, simply pulled down hard.

The body jerked down a bit. The spikes tore up through it before striking bone. The metal, already weakened from the force of the heavy body slamming into it, snapped clean off, and the Turelim tumbled to the ground in a heap.

Standing over it, Raziel reached down and began to remove the spikes from its body. The first two he threw off to the side. But as he gingerly removed the last, he stepped back hastily and brandished the weapon in readiness, still uncertain as to what might happen next.  
The vampire's corpse lay before him unmoving.

Suddenly a claw twitched, and the beast sprang to its feet.

Raziel reeled back apace, then dove forward with the spike.

The Turelim's head turned towards him, and its eyes opened to reveal slits that glowed gray.

The sight caused Raziel to stumble. His feet slid out from under him, and he landed on his rear with a jarring thump.

Above him the Turelim coughed bloodily, then swore.

"Damn!" Sejm growled. "Did you have to rip him off?!" He glanced down meaningfully at the bloody tears in his chest.

Raziel only stared.

Seeming to remember himself, the newly reborn Sejm dropped to one knee. "I apologize, lord. I intend no slight to the manner in which you liberated me. The pain is refreshing, even as it passes." As he spoke, the wounds quickly closed with unnatural alacrity.

"Sejm?" Raziel whispered.

"Aye, my lord." The Turelim form drew itself up proudly. "Shall we now attend to the rest of our comrades?"

Raziel nodded dumbly, and clambered to his feet. Then he and Sejm went about removing the other bodies from their posts, only this time Raziel tried to be more gentle. Sejm's new height and reach made him better suited to the task, and as each Turelim came down, it arose infused with the soul of a Razielim wraith.

The bizarre process continued, until Raziel finally found himself standing before Ellich De.

His claws twitched. He was loath to touch this carcass, but having some idea of the result, he grasped its ankles and coaxed it carefully off the spikes.

The vampire instantly came back to life and landed on its feet. Its eyes were closed.

"Are you well, Cellidane?" Raziel inquired.

The gray eyes snapped open and centered on his face. An exultant sigh escaped the lips.

"Perfectly so, Father," Cellidane responded, "Simply taking a moment to enjoy the irony."

The other Razielim laughed appreciatively. Raziel gave his daughter a marveling stare. "How can this be?" he asked with plain curiosity.

"We all, each of us, devoured only one apiece of the souls you sent to us," Cellidane informed him. "If a vampire wraith devours another vampire's soul, then no matter the condition of their original body, their spirit can now inhabit their victim's form should it ever be removed from the cause of its demise."

"I could never do this," Raziel said.

"Of course not, Father," Cellidane chided him lightly. "You are no longer a vampire in any way, and you have no need of others' bodies when you can make your own."

Raziel shook his head admiringly. "Amazing."

The other Razielim ceased examining their new bodies and gathered about their leaders.

"Ikarus!" Thraim called out happily. "I am so pleased to be back, I suppose I can forgive you for being so ugly."

Ikarus' snout split in a grin. "Be relieved you have no means with which to view yourself, then."

"We are alive again!" another vampire shouted joyfully, and they all let loose cries of unsurpassed glee. Standing in the midst of his children's revelry, Raziel's wrecked features twisted into their closest approximation of a smile.

"Silence now, all of you," Cellidane admonished them, and their fervor was quickly restrained, although they continued to prod and inspect their new forms curiously. "You are no longer alone, Father." Cellidane dropped to one knee, and the others followed suit. "We now boast the powers and awareness of these bodies' previous hosts. With our strength at your command, we shall breach the defenses erected about the Turelim overlord and join you in sending his soul down to the pit wherein he exiled us!"

The vampire cohort roared in agreement, and as one they surged to their feet.

"Lead us now, Father! Our vengeance is at hand!" With that Cellidane turned towards the gate leading from the room.

"Wait!" Raziel shouted.

His host froze around him. Cellidane looked back with a questioning air.

The Reaver of Souls stepped through the press of hulking bodies until he reached the great metal globe that floated in the center of the room. There he paused and stared thoughtfully up at the mystic device. The small object still hovered over the surface, but no longer did it move.

"Cellidane," Raziel spoke over his shoulder without taking his eyes from the globe. "You say that you have inherited the Turelims' thoughts and abilities. Can I assume you thus know the purpose of this instrument and its function?"

"Yes, Father," Cellidane replied. "The stone marker represents the Tower and is used to guide it across the land. The crystal nodes are the Turelim strongholds where the Atlas Legions disembark and board the castle. If you look closer you will see a map of the world inscribed into the surface of the globe."

"Indeed," Raziel peered up at the surface. "So we are now here," he indicated the spot below the Tower icon. His claw traced a line out along the surface. "You control its movement. Does this mean you can set the Tower back down?"

"No. Our levitation is provided for constantly by the Atlas Legions themselves. But the telekinetic barrier that guards the Tower's main entrance is under our control." She indicated the basin of sand below the sphere.

"I see," Raziel whispered. He continued to stare at the globe for a few moments. Then, as if having come to a conclusion, he turned about to face his expectant clan.

"I regret, my children, that you will not accompany me in the battle against our enemy. But your place is here, for it is up to you to engineer the downfall of my mad brother."

_To be continued..._


	7. Ch6: Judgment

Events now unfold as they must on Nosgoth. Ancient forces opposed for centuries have chosen their avatars and defenders. The coming conflict is one long in the making, but surprisingly short in execution, as all great events are. The end result will determine the future of an entire world. In accordance with the vast scope of this situation, there are many attentions focused on the outcome.

In a sunken and secluded grotto in the Underworld, the being who has identified itself as the Elder God writhes with frustration as its supposed cats-paw moves ever further out of its reach.

Bound fast in the prison of her grief, Ariel, ex-Guardian of the Pillar of Balance, haunts ceaselessly the site of her death, long aggrieved but ever ready to subtly play the earthly beings who succumb to her plight. Her mission is not to be denied for any plea or misgiving.

The Tower of Turel soars in frightening majesty above the face of Nosgoth. Within this threatening stronghold, a vampire lord plots to overcome all his enemies and bring the planet into his hungry grip. Turel is a greater threat to this world's future than even he knows. As things stand, only his brother has a chance of stopping him, but Turel has planned well in his defense. His defeat will not be easy. Something unexpected will be needed…

Raziel, Reaver of Souls, stands at the threshold of his final brother's sanctuary, secretly aided by forces owing no allegiance to anyone save him. He has found his purpose and the means to carry it out, but whether or not he will triumph in this battle is not a foregone conclusion. Raziel's is the hardest lot to bear.

And finally, there is Kain. The God of Nosgoth watches his two eldest sons prepare to engage in fatal war, ready to take advantage of the situation no matter the result. Kain is become an entity of unspeakable force, and there is nowhere on this planet that his influence is not felt. Yet even this is insufficient. For him, only ultimate control will suffice. He must be answerable to nothing and no one, not even his own past. This spectacle of treachery and murder is the work of Kain's careful hand.

Raziel is a powerful player in this game, but he has yet to fully realize the extent of his Father's ambition.

The time has come. The omissions and disappointments will be set aright.

Now, read on.

* * *

At Raziel's command, they took up their positions.

The Open Eye was the nerve center of the Tower, a vital strategic point that had now fallen into the hands of Turel's worst enemy.

Eight Turelim stood in a circle in the center of the room. In appearance, they were of the same breed that had opposed Raziel during his entire trek through the monolith. But where once there had been a foe, now there was an ally. From out of the eyes of each vampire peered an undead Razielim wraith, newly ensconced within a stolen body. The clan of Raziel had been reborn, and their entire race now stood within this room in service to the Reaver of Souls.

Cellidane issued a brief order, and the Razielim opened their minds, reaching out to lock hold of one another in a powerful union. Beneath their feet, the floor began to shake, to rumble in distress. Moments later the crisis passed as the coven adjusted to the sensation of their new role.

Raziel moved closer to Cellidane, interested. He could feel the energy in the room, directed around the metal globe borne aloft in the center of the Open Eye. Beneath it, the basin of sand began to tremble. As Raziel watched, ripples moved across the grains, flowing in concentric rings out from the middle. Then the sand began to swirl about like a whirlpool. It thinned around the center, and the shallow bottom of the basin came into view. The hole in the sand began to widen, until the entire mass became a ring of particles surging up to the basin's edge.

Cellidane opened her eyes and turned to Raziel. "It is done," she said.

"And done well, my children," Raziel responded approvingly. The other Razielim beamed at each other. Now they knew it could be accomplished. Raziel could see their sense of achievement and pride. Strangely, he felt heavy-hearted. They were together now, but when all this was over, when Turel was finally defeated, how many would be left? Would his clan continue, or would he once again be alone in this world? Sadness, a sensation of grief and emptiness, settled in his stomach and ran through his bones. But this feeling also made him aware of his resolve. He now had something real to fight for, something solid and good. He was on an equal footing with Turel, if not greater. Raziel would fight for his children, both living and dead.

"My lord," the vampire named Oneld spoke up, and Raziel directed his attention to her. "We are now certain we can carry out our role in your plan, and we all applaud its merits. But why do you limit your own chances for success?" She moved toward the globe. "You see, if we were to…"

"I am aware of your concerns, Oneld," Raziel interrupted her, "and while I admit my odds for victory would be greatly improved, do not assume that my reasons for discarding that solution are frivolous. We are already pressed for time in this venture. Turel is aware of us."

"Yes," Raziel continued as his children shifted uncomfortably and darted wary looks at the chamber's entrances. "He has felt his servants' deaths, especially Ellich De. And the Tower's unexpected halt has surely not gone unnoticed. Turel will send his hordes to investigate, and that is when the danger to you becomes very real, much to my shame and regret." Raziel turned slowly as he spoke, so that he could see them all. "They will come, and though I know your wrath against them is great, and justly so, you must refrain from provoking them to attack. To this end, you will seek to suppress the evidence of your true wraith selves. All except for Cellidane, whose body's former occupant shared that mark." The Razielim glanced down at their bodies, at the blue sparks of dark energy rising from their skin. They concentrated, and the effect subsided, wrapped tightly within their collective selves.

"The sight of you here will confuse your assailants, hopefully keep them from recognizing you and our design. With luck," Raziel spoke grimly, hating himself but not seeing any way around it, "we will all see each other again when this is over. I would barter my soul for it."

"We understand, my lord," Thraim spoke up respectfully.

Raziel sighed. "My children," he said, feeling a little awkward, "that is another matter. I am no longer a vampire, the head of the clan. I am not your lord. My need for honorifics is long past, and we are the closer for it. Please, if you must call me anything, I know you have all earned the right to address me as Raziel."

The Razielim glanced around at each other uncertainly, clearly at a loss for this.

"Raziel," Cellidane said it slowly, hesitatingly. She blinked and looked over at her father.

"Feels odd," she said.

Raziel stared, and then threw back his head and laughed, long, loud and unrestrained. The other Razielim soon followed his lead, even Cellidane, and for a time, they forgot about their situation, heedless of the danger, and did as their hearts commanded.

After a while, the furor died down. Someone whispered, "Raziel!" and the room burst into giggles, but they were quickly hushed. Raziel chuckled and shook his head, amazed at the unpredictability of life. When he looked up, he saw Cellidane staring at him, an expression halfway between tears and joy on her face. Without question, Raziel moved forward and put his arms about her in a tight embrace. It felt strange, touching this rough body and knowing that his daughter was within it. But the unfamiliarity was dispelled by her own arms around him.

"You came back to us," Cellidane whispered tearfully. "Thank you, Raziel."

"I love you, daughter," was all he needed to say.

They parted, and Cellidane wiped her eyes briefly with too-large claws. Raziel then walked about the circle, holding and speaking to each of his children for what he hoped was not the final time. They all had some words for him, and he cherished them, his beautiful clan.

Finally he came to Ikarus at Cellidane's right hand. When Raziel looked in the vampire's eyes he saw something there, different from the others and indefinable. The two of them embraced, and Raziel whispered, "I know you can do this."

Silence. Then a low, fierce voice spoke in his ear, "I will not fail her again."

Raziel stepped back to study Ikarus. There was an incontrovertible promise in his words. But there was no time to reflect on the import of this. Turel was waiting for him. Raziel walked over to the gate that would lead to the throne hall. He pressed a knob in the surface and the portal parted to reveal an empty hallway.

It had come down to this. He and Turel would face each other to settle old wrongs. Raziel felt neither exhilaration nor fear. With a final look back at his clan, he stepped over the threshold, and the doors closed behind him with a harsh boom of finality.

The Razielim watched him go, and then turned to their task. Linking their power once again, they bent their will upon the globe. The tiny obelisk floating above it began to move once again, and the Tower of Turel swept smoothly on its course over Nosgoth.

* * *

There was dead silence in Turel's throne room. The Turelim guards alternated between scanning the hall and staring in morbid fascination at the other end of the chamber. Far away from them, Turel remained upon his throne, unmoving. He had not so much as stretched for nearly an hour, only sat immobile as a statue. He seemed ready to wait for the rest of eternity.

Jehamiah, however, was sick to death of waiting and showing it.

He prowled slowly through the throngs like a shadow of war. While his movements were unhurried, his eyes blazed with a ferocious intensity. Occasionally he would stop and crouch down on the floor, and when he did, he would think. These were his thoughts:

I have spent over half my life in this Tower, and much of that time I have not been allowed to leave it. I have seen these halls and trod these paths countless times. I actually remember the curves of columns and the number of steps and I am weary of it. I must get out.

Jehamiah rose and walked again, then sat back on his haunches. He clasped his hands together and squeezed as hard as he could until he felt bone snap and the pain took up most of his thoughts. Then he let go and waited to heal.

I am a warrior. Combat and death are my lifeblood. And yet I have more memories of pilasters and hypostyle halls than of battles. In the outside world I am no more than a figure in stories. I have been patient and loyal for my father Turel, even though I know he is…

Jehamiah did not finish but leapt to his feet and padded slowly about, concentrating on keeping his movements controlled and even. One must not rush, one must have patience. When he felt secure, he stopped again.

Although I am immortal, I am still aware of time. I feel seconds and days pass me by no more rapidly than any wretched human. I chafe and foam at being trapped in here while the world moves and things die outside. My lord Turel is aware of my needs and thus he has given me hope. I know when I shall finally be released, and when I am, I swear I shall never set foot in this insane Tower again.

Stand and walk. The excitement was inside him, a frenzied need for life-and-death struggle, but he suppressed it, though it cost him dearly.

Raziel is coming. He is the key to my prison. A blood battle, here, against a son of Kain, truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. One glorious, righteous fight to begin my life anew as a warrior…unending days… for all time I will battle and slay. Let the assault (the deaths) begin…

The floor suddenly lurched beneath Jehamiah. Startled, he hastily gripped the stones for balance. For a moment his sense of equilibrium was completely shot. Confused and angry, he looked around to see some of the guards sprawled on the floor in bewildered chagrin. Jehamiah's steely gaze traveled over them, and the royal troops hurriedly strove to find their bearings. For a time, nothing and no one seemed to move, and as he was just about to question his sire, Turel stood up and screamed.

The guards whirled around towards the throne, shouting in consternation. Jehamiah sprang past them and ran down the hall. Turel was alone, no one else was there.

"My lord!" the lieutenant shouted. "What…?"

"Ellich De!" Turel cried. "He is gone, I felt him…die." Turel paused, blinking uncertainly. "What?" he whispered. "What is this?!"

"My lord…"

"Silence!" Turel hissed with a violent sweep of his arm. He leaned forward, his claws splayed on the floor, eyes staring fixedly at a point off in space. Minutes passed, and Jehamiah felt as if he must explode with fury. Why did Turel do this to him?!

"There but not there," Turel finally muttered. "Here and gone." He seemed equally confused as his offspring, but more furious by far.

"That bastard!" he slavered. "How dare he mock me? He will not reap my children, by all the pits of hell, _can I rely on none of you?!"_

Turel rose up to his full height and glared murderously at the quailing mob of Turelim far off. "Be gone from my sight! I was a fool to imagine you could have any impact on the outcome of this battle. Go now, while you are still alive!" he shrieked, and the bewildered guards stumbled over themselves in their haste to reach the floor gate.

"Jehamiah!" Turel roared without looking around. "The Open Eye has fallen to our enemy, but Ellich De's condition is unknown to me. You will lead a force to regain control of my Tower, and if Ellich De is not past all means of revival then you will bring him back. Now go!"

The first lieutenant did not move.

Panting with rage, it took Turel a few moments to notice that his servant was still beside him. He turned his gaze downward, and the father's eyes locked with the son's.

Jehamiah stared up at his lord. It was too much. He could not keep quiet about this. His long-ingrained loyalty now warred with common sense. Jehamiah thought about what to say to his sire and how best to say it. He then decided that he no longer cared.

"Have you lost your mind?" he whispered forcefully. Turel's eyes slowly widened with incredulity.

"If he is at the Open Eye," Jehamiah continued, "then he is practically upon us. And you, you cast out your own guards. What is this folly? Are you set on meeting the same end as your brothers?!"

Turel licked his lips. "Be silent!" he rasped.

"I will not be silent, not with what is at stake here!" Jehamiah roared back. He was livid with fury, heedless of any danger. "I have earned the right to address you truthfully! I have lived confined, rotting away in this flying mad house for seven hundred years, because I had faith in you, in your judgment. You are the finest of us all, you are the last imperial Son of Kain! And now when the threat you have planned against and even feared for so long finally appears, you will not let me fight by your side? Sending me off to tend to that diseased slug?!"

Turel's face was writhing and contorting in an obscene display, but Jehamiah could not stop himself.

"Are all Kain's children bent on self-destruction?! It will not happen again! Turel, I will not leave you!!"

A massive claw swept out and slammed into Jehamiah. It tore into his face and sent him flying across the hall. He rolled to a stop and lay still, too stunned to move.

Turel slid towards him, and as he did he spoke. His voice was completely calm. "You may not address me by such familiarity, my servant. I am your lord and father, your better. I am the future ruler of this earth, and I will not be spoken to in that way ever again."

Turel reached down and picked Jehamiah up in his huge talons. He carried the paralyzed lieutenant over to the portal. "You say you will not leave here? Then so be it; it is my decree that you never will leave this Tower. After I have overcome my insignificant elder and imprisoned him here, then you will remain as his jailor. It is a great honor, Jehamiah, and an eternal one. For so long as this world lasts. _That_ is the reward you have earned."

Standing over the open portal, Turel held Jehamiah up before his face. He studied him for what seemed like the longest time.

"This is the last I will ever speak to you, my son. Have you anything to tell me?"

Jehamiah gazed blearily at his sire, at the look on his face.

"You are," he gurgled, "insane."

Turel dropped him through the portal to land on the crystal floor below. Then he used his power to force the metal eye to iris shut, taking the time to crush the mechanisms and permanently seal it closed. Alone, Turel waited for his brother to arrive.

* * *

Beneath the throne hall, a crowd of Turelim gathered about the prone form of their leader. Jehamiah could feel his bones knitting back together. Blood flowed into his mouth from the gashes in his face. It tasted almost sweet. But the blood-flow seemed to be receding. The wounds were closing. NO!

With a snarl, Jehamiah lurched up. He dug his talons into the wounds left by Turel's claws, ripping them open afresh. The Turelim around him shrank back in horror. Blood flowed into his mouth again, and this time Jehamiah willed the tears to stay open.

It was all over.

Turel had declared he would never leave here, and he had spent his life according to Turel's wishes. This Tower would be his tomb.

If that were the case, was there anything he could do to make his sentence more bearable?

Jehamiah brightened immediately. That had not taken long.

He surged to his feet and plowed through the mob of vampires. Reaching the steps he bounded lightly down them. He had a mission to attend to, after all. On the way down he ran into Anhat and some of his aides. Several of them were carrying weapons. Perfect!

Anhat was saying something, but Jehamiah found it difficult to follow. He reached out and took a broad-bladed naginata spear from one of the others. Then he pushed past them as swiftly as he could, racing down the stairs. One of Anhat's minions had for some reason gone over the railing and was falling towards the Tower's crescent platform far below. Now why did I not think of that? Jehamiah pondered. Much faster. He vaulted over the side of the stairs and plunged hundreds of feet down. After the impact, he simply waited for himself to heal and then ran on. He had to get to the Open Eye. He had a message for Ellich De.

* * *

Anhat could scarcely believe what had just happened. Jehamiah was obviously wounded and out of control. What had transpired above? Fear clutched his stomach in its icy grip. Had Raziel breached the throne hall? Was Turel safe? For a moment Anhat was caught between his desire to pursue Jehamiah and the need to assure his lord's safety. Eventually he came to a decision. He ordered two of his retinue to follow the first lieutenant and prevent him from coming to any harm. Then he tore up the stairs.

Upon reaching the top, he found a pack of Turelim milling about, clearly at a loss for what to do. "What is going on here?!" Anhat demanded sharply.

The presence of an authority figure seemed to reassure the vampires. One of them mustered the resolve to speak. "All was quiet, and then the Tower shook, and Turel began berating us. He ordered us to leave the throne room. A few moments later he dropped Jehamiah through the portal and sealed it shut. Sir Anhat, what should we do?"

Anhat considered. So Raziel was not inside yet. But something had occurred at the Open Eye, so that meant…

"You will remain here," Anhat ordered, "and force your way into the throne room at the first sign of struggle. No matter what befalls you, Turel must be defended. It is for the survival of our race. Our lives mean nothing if we lose him." He turned then to his remaining followers. "We must aid Jehamiah in securing the Open Eye. Come!"

* * *

Raziel moved openly along the dimly lit tunnel. Opposition from the Turelim no longer concerned him. Nothing could prevent his confrontation with Turel. Only the fate of his children caused him some distress. However, as he proceeded on his way, there remained no sign of any Turelim guards, leading him to wonder if his path would be as unobstructed as with his previous brothers. They had all eschewed direct protection from their offspring. It could be Turel had succumbed to the same vanity.

He remembered this way clearly. In what seemed no time at all, the Reaver of Souls arrived at his destination.

A plain stone door stood before him. Raziel did not pause to wonder what lay ahead. The only thing that mattered at all was that Turel was in this room. He could feel it. Raziel flexed his claw, and the Soul Reaver unclenched from around his heart and flowed from his palm to form the wraith blade. Raziel scorned subtlety. His brother knew he was there. He charged his weapon with telekinetic force, drove it into the blood-red stone, and the door exploded outwards.

The Reaver of Souls strode into the darkened hall without fear. The lofty chamber was much as he remembered it. There was no light from torches, not even the devices which had brightened the rest of the castle. But even through these dim shadows, Raziel could see that the throne room was deserted.

Wary now, Raziel stepped further into the chamber. Do not underestimate Turel, he advised himself. As he surveyed his surroundings, he became aware that the room was not as lightless as he had first believed. At the far end of the hall, a harsh yellow glow starkly delineated Turel's throne. Carved from the rarest and most valuable material on Nosgoth, the grandiose seat of solid wood seemed much larger than Raziel remembered, even from this distance. The light beckoned him towards it by instinctive need, but Raziel resisted the bait. Instead he took the time to examine the layout of the throne room. The more time Turel gave him to work out the last details, the better. His brother was lurking somewhere in this area. Raziel could sense a powerful presence, but for reasons he did not care to know his brother had not yet revealed his location. Perhaps he was hiding in fear. Raziel did not allow himself the luxury of enjoying that thought. Too much was at risk here to be careless.

By the far-off light, Raziel could discern some detail to the hall's furnishings. Huge tapestries decorated the walls. At each end of the chamber, he recognized two gargantuan banners of viridian hue with Turel's clan symbol etched in gold, a holdover from his own time. But arrayed along the space between were new additions, rotting sails of cloth. Despite their depleted condition and the dim light, the former vampire prince could tell that these were once his own clan banners, now hung here for Turel's aggrandizement. His brother seemed to have a habit of putting evidence of his genocidal past on display.

Moving with studious control, Raziel reached the end of the hall opposite the throne. Where once there had been a sweeping staircase, now there was only a large circle of interconnecting metal blades. He could deduce no means of opening it. Faintly, he thought he could hear noises below, and the metal shook slightly.

A tremor touched his soul. Raziel swung about, the Soul Reaver raised in defense. Nothing. He was still alone, although he knew Turel was watching him somehow. Did his brother seek to frighten him with these tactics? What are you playing at, Turel?

The brightly illuminated throne still caught his eye. Glancing about, Raziel probed the empty hall, the metal portal, the flags above him. Very well, brother. I will pretend to follow your directions if it means you will finally face me. With that, Raziel moved down the hall.

Turel watched him go.

The lord of the Turelim lurked in a small hollow hidden in the wall behind his expansive clan banner. This was a secret know only to him. Such a simple trick, and yet sufficient to lend him the element of surprise. Through a hole in the fabric, he watched Raziel turn his back and creep towards the throne. Turel felt his heart racing, but his mind was clear. A simple trick, one that you would have fallen to once before, had I not been there.

Do you recall, Raziel…?

It had been late in their lives then, only a few decades before what neither of them suspected would be their last Clan Meeting together. It was certainly a time for strange occurrences. For only the second time ever, a schism had developed in the vampire community. An offshoot cult had suddenly come to fruition, heretics who defied the rule of Kain and worshipped their own leader, an upstart vampire who claimed to be a survivor from the time before Kain. They practiced forbidden magics and even dared to invade a temple of Kain, sullying its treasures and feasting on its human worshippers. Their leader declared himself a God and challenged Kain to come and bow before him.

As it happened, this little rebellion came at a very unfortunate time, for Kain had mysteriously vanished. It had been his wont as of late to undertake these unannounced absences, offering no explanations upon his return. No one, not even Raziel, knew when he might be back. So the first lieutenant decided that they would deal with this blasphemy themselves, and Turel had agreed.

The two eldest brothers ordered Dumah to watch over the other clans, then mustered their armies and departed towards the temple settlement where the coven now kept its head. The two mighty forces descended on the motley array of mixed clan members with the sweeping force of a divine wave. They slew their opponents mercilessly, fighting the fanatics in the streets around the temple

Within a short while the forces of Kain had breached the hastily erected defenses. Raziel and Turel led the charge that pierced the temple gates. Swarming into the inner sanctum, butchering any who got in their way, they found the holy relics destroyed and the great altar defiled with a huge pile of filth and human refuse. Outraged, Raziel had approached the sadly disgraced altar. Turning back to his followers, he had ordered them to remove the detritus.

As he did, Turel saw something move within the pile behind Raziel. "Beware!" he cried, and dove forward. From the heap emerged the coven's leader, an axe in his grip. He swung at Raziel's head, but Turel had pushed his brother aside, and the blade deflected off his arm to slice down deep into his ribs. With a snarl of fury, Turel reached forward, grasped the vampire's squealing head and ripped it from its body with a powerful twist.

Turel swayed on his feet, and Raziel rushed to pull the axe from his brother's chest. As the wound closed, the first-born lieutenant gave his sibling a grateful smile. Their minions all shouted their praise of Turel's valiant action.

The rebel leader was revealed to be only a Zephonim, much to Zephon's disgrace. When Kain finally returned from his outing, he was told the whole story. In the presence of his sons, he had questioned Raziel as to his safety. Then, even as Turel grieved at being shunted aside again, Kain left Raziel's side and approached his second-born. Looking him in the eyes, Kain had clasped his shoulder and spoken affectionately, "Well done, my son. You have my praise and thanks." Turel had never forgotten. It was the only time his Father had ever said such words to him. All because he had saved Raziel's life.

Now to win his father's respect, he would take that life. Again.

Raziel withdrew further down the hall, unaware of the danger behind him. Turel drew the drape aside and floated out to hover silently on the air. There would be no mistakes. His time was now. With that, Turel swept silently down, building up speed. Raziel still had not noticed.

Turel drew back a deadly claw, soared in closer. No one to save you now…

Raziel moved warily, scanning the throne. He could see no danger. Perhaps Turel…

_Beware!_

Raziel did not question. He dove forward, and felt something huge sweep over him, a rush of air accompanied by an inhuman howl of defeat. Raziel rolled, came quickly to his feet and cast the Fire Glyph.

A magical inferno exploded through the hall. The range of the spell caught the ancient cloth of the Razielim clan banners, setting them ablaze and causing them to collapse in heaps to the floor. A terrible shriek tore the air, and then the effects of the spell had passed.

Unharmed, Raziel stared. Before him, the royal throne smoked and smoldered. The Turelim flag that hung above it was engulfed in orange fire. And silhouetted against that blaze, a great black shadow hung in midair.

For the first time in over 1,000 years, Raziel saw his brother Turel.

* * *

Eyes tightly shut, the Razielim continued to work their magic, when a terrific boom carried down through the tunnel. Some of them paused in their efforts, casting anxious glances down the darkened passageway. They knew what it meant. The Turelim were coming for them.

"Stop that!" Cellidane hissed. "Raziel is depending on us not to falter. Come what may, we will not fail him."

The Razielim all nodded in silent accordance, and once again concentrated on their work. Cellidane watched them strive with fierce determination and suddenly felt tears come to her eyes. If necessary, she would willingly give up her life to see Raziel victorious. But the thought of her deputies once again following her lead into death still pained her. For a moment she felt sick and unspeakably ashamed.

Warm thoughts, a presence beside her, brought Cellidane back. She turned her head to see Ikarus, a smile on his face. Grateful for his support, Cellidane smiled in return. So reassured, she resumed her efforts.

Gradually, faint noises began to issue from the tunnel. Odd sounds, snarls and scrapings, they were made all the more unnerving because they seemed to be issuing from only one throat. Then a gruesome roar sounded, closer than before, and Cellidane could not help but flinch. Whatever it was, it was coming closer. They could hear the sound of heavy feet racing towards them. With it came an odor, a taint of something wrong that Cellidane could not describe. It was unwholesome, terrifying, and unmistakably familiar. Somehow she knew that scent. But they could not be distracted. Everything lay upon their success. Cellidane breathed deeply, letting the telekinetic force flow from her hands. For Raziel. I will die for him.

Die…in this room…that scent…Oh, no….

And just as Cellidane remembered, Jehamiah burst into the room.

Monstrous, unstoppably violent, Turel's first lieutenant brought with him the fetor of madness and slaughter, of endless death. Two crimson gashes in his face wept blood ceaselessly. His eyes burned like fiery coals, and in his claws he held a spear. As he beheld his quarry at last, gasping laughter stuttered from his throat. Then he paused. For a moment, through a blood-red haze, he could not identify Ellich De. It looked as if all of them were sending up sparks. Jehamiah blinked and the scene was normal. Ellich De was standing in his usual spot. Jehamiah growled eagerly. Slowly he stalked forward. Flicking the naginata from one paw to another, he advanced on his prey.

Cellidane felt him draw up behind her, kept her eyes firmly shut. She knew that she was dead. All that mattered was contributing as much to their cause as she could.

Jehamiah circled Ellich De, feeling the lust to kill sparking inside him, energizing him. He had to speak first, let the bastard know what was coming, but his teeth were clenched so tight that he had to force his jaws open. His breath leaked out, conveying the stench of dead things. "Well… you seem fine, Ellich… in good form. Mayhaps Turel was mistaken."

Ellich De remained silent.

"What?" Jehamiah rasped softly, seductively. "No greeting for your superior? No bandying of sweet words? As you said previously, I have developed a facility for them, one might even say a passion."

His claws tightened their grip on the spear. He grinned in bloody happiness. "I have a message for you, Ellich De." Beside Jehamiah, one of the Turelim flinched, but the vampire lieutenant did not notice. "It is from Turel." His talons scraped over the long blade with a shrill note of execution.

"He asked me to tell you," and Jehamiah swept the spear back, "to die!!"

Someone grabbed the shaft, and Jehamiah spun about. The Turelim before him bared its teeth in his face. "KILLER!!" it roared, and its eyes glowed gray.

"_IKARUS, NO!"_ Cellidane cried.

Ikarus?! Jehamiah stared into those gleaming orbs, and recognition passed between them.

"YOU!" he bellowed in fury.

Ikarus opened his mouth and a force projectile slammed into Jehamiah's face, ripping his wounds open even further. But Jehamiah did not release the spear. He swung Ikarus around, still clutching the shaft, and smashed him against a pillar. Struggling, they both fought for control of the weapon. The sick red eyes of the Turelim clashed with the Razielim's gray slits.

Two more armed Turelim burst into the room and froze upon seeing the battle.

Cellidane turned her head and matching force blasts flew from her mouth, impacting with the Turelim and knocking them against the wall to land in dazed heaps. Cellidane went back to helping the others. Time was running out. But if necessary, they would fight. They had a choice this time, and no matter whether they lived or died, this time the Razielim would not lose.

* * *

The sight of Turel touched Raziel with revulsion.

The figure hovering above him was huge, taller than Dumah. In place of legs there was only a massive conical trunk, tough with muscle. From the base sprouted four thick tentacles that writhed and snapped in fury. The torso was knobbed and bony, an armored shell. The head too seemed to be protected with a bony covering, almost like a helmet. Its face was a nightmare, the mouth filled with sharp teeth, and the nose flowed down into it to form a sort of beak. But on either side of its temples were two long locks of lustrous black hair, a bizarre mark of beauty from Turel's old form.

The thing's arms were outspread, and they gave Raziel the most horrific sight of all.

The limbs were long, abnormally so, reaching down to the base of the trunk. The upper arms were regular-sized, although bulging with hard, blockish muscles. But the forearms were a sickening counterpoint. They were lengthy, thin, and almost completely denuded of muscle. Like long spears of bone, they stretched out to end in two great mauling sets of talons. From the thing's brow, matching pinions of curving bone swept back on either side of the skull, the oversized bat ears that distinguished all borne of Turel's stock. But unlike the lesser members of the clan, the membranous skin of these implements stretched down, anchoring to Turel's back and then growing out to form long flaps of skin that connected with the spindly arms. Raziel could see firelight flickering through these transparent half-wings, but his vision was altered by more than just the flames. From these delicate spans poured a constant stream of telekinetic force, rippling the air and serving as the impetus that kept Turel off the ground.

Raziel saw this thing, heard its howls, and a part of his mind knew it was his brother. But as he raised the Soul Reaver and pointed it at his opponent, all he saw was a beast, an abomination from hell. It had to be destroyed.

A ball of energy shot from the Soul Reaver's tip.

Turel watched it come. His outspread wings kept him in perfect equilibrium in the air. They were his greatest pride more than anything else, for they were the result not of a random act of evolution, but his own determined work. Like all his clan he had developed telekinetic capabilities over the centuries, but he had learned early on that there were far more uses for this talent than were readily apparent. During his gestation periods, Turel had sought time and again to work with his gift from within the State of Change to control the course in which his own body took. Ever mindful of Raziel's example, he had worked long and hard, under self-inflicted pain, to force his body to develop a counter against Raziel's undeserved evolutionary gift, and he had succeeded. Muscle and tissue were stripped from his arms to become the lacy flaps of skin that could direct waves of gravity-defying power from his body, asserting his control over himself and superiority over Raziel.

His brother's spell had caused him momentary pain in his wings, but the magic had ultimately found no purchase on his body. It was not strong enough. That was one less thing to worry about. Now there was only the Soul Reaver, their Father's lost weapon brought against his son. It had been so long since Turel had been in actual combat. But he was still a child of Kain, vampire, warrior-born. As the energy burst streaked towards him, Turel glided easily off to one side, and the attack flew wide of its mark to dissipate against the chamber wall. My turn, sibling, he thought calmly, and opened his fang-filled jaws wide.

Raziel tensed. The creature's agility in the air was remarkable. If he was to come out of this fight the victor, he would have to find some way to bring it to ground. Then the beast opened its maw with a guttural intake of breath. He guessed what was coming and quickly ran beneath the thing, presenting a moving target. It turned, following his route, and then with a piercing screech, a wave of telekinetic power flooded from its throat. It was like a long sustained series of blasts, a force battering ram, and all this destructive power was directed at Raziel.

The Reaver leapt to one side, and the solid stone floor where he had stood was pulverized into dust and rubble. Raziel rolled upright and fired two force blasts of his own before continuing his mad dash about the room. Had to avoid standing still, he could not afford to be hit by one of those waves. The monster dodged both of his shots gracefully, floating like a feather on the wind, but as it did Raziel noticed that it was now flying much lower than before. Apparently those attacks caused it to lose altitude. Good to know. That meant it would have to come down sometimes. Now he had something to work towards. But all thoughts of a plan were swept from his mind as the creature once again charged its attack.

Turel launched his force ram, tearing a swath of carnage across his throne hall in pursuit of Raziel. As he did, he could feel himself sink towards the floor. He was now only twenty feet off the ground, and every movement was costing him more energy. He would have to land soon and recharge, and Raziel still had the Soul Reaver, curse it! Very well, then; let it be on my terms. And with that, Turel flew as far away from Raziel as he could, concentrated his power, and fired one last defensive salvo in a broad arc. Then he dropped to the ground with a heavy thud and began to build up his reserves.

Raziel dodged the last assault and came up again. His footing was growing more treacherous now. Through the haze of red dust he strained for some sign of his enemy's whereabouts. Then with delight he saw it at the other end of the hall, no longer airborne and now within his reach. Time to take the offensive. With the Soul Reaver extended, Raziel dashed forward. If he could at least disable its wings, he would have a fighting chance.

Turel saw him coming, and fear numbed his heart. He raised his claws protectively, determined to keep Raziel from getting near his body. His extended reach was both an invaluable aid and a grievous weakness. Every attack left his wings vulnerable, but he had no other alternative.

Raziel approached the creature swiftly. It had seen him, and there was no turning back. He raised his wraith blade and fired a blast at its face. It lifted one arm and caught the attack on its broad claw. Raziel came in closer and swung his weapon at the thing's arm, but to his surprise it slid over the ground out of reach. Its tentacles were what provided it with mobility on the floor, greater than Raziel had expected. This would not be easy, he thought, and as he did, a taloned fist plowed towards him. Raziel jumped lightly back and considered the monster. How much time before it could lift off again? Then, as if in answer, it spread its arms.

Turel gloated. He was now fully recovered. The telekinetic might flared through his membranous wings. They surged and billowed. Raziel lunged towards him, but Turel bunched the muscles in his trunk and sprang straight up, unleashing his collected power at the same time to send himself soaring high up into the ceiling. There he waited.

Raziel glared darkly at his hovering assailant. He had been too cautious. If he expected to gain the upper hand, he would have to try something daring.

High above him, Turel watched his brother carefully. Which of them would make the next move? Raziel was circling below him. He did not attack. What was he up to? Some kind of plan? Rest assured, I am by far the superior tactician, Raziel.

Suddenly the tiny figure turned and ran, moving down the hall towards the door from which he had entered. Escape, little one? Oh no, I think not. With that, Turel launched a rock-crushing wave of power at the open portal. The section of wall exploded in front of Raziel, and Turel saw him thrown back. He bounced along the shattered floor and came to rest in a tangled heap. Turel peered suspiciously at his still form. Was this a sham? He floated a little lower.

Raziel rolled to one side and stood up, swaying unsteadily. Turel gave a quick gasp.

Raziel had lost the Soul Reaver!

Yes! Turel crowed inwardly. Take him now, while he is disoriented! The Turelim prince arced down, his claws outstretched to grab hold. Raziel stumbled away, and Turel swooped in upon him.

Turel lashed out, and Raziel dove forward swiftly. The titan passed over him. As it did, he raised a claw, and the Soul Reaver surged forth to stab upward into his brother's body. Turel roared in surprise.

Raziel cried out too.

The Soul Reaver had burst into pieces.

* * *

Ikarus was losing the fight, and he knew it. He had attacked Jehamiah in a righteous fury, confident that his new abilities would prove superior to the Turelim's might. But the sheer power of the hulking warrior was unimaginable, and none of Ikarus' attacks seemed to slow him down. There was no denying it. Ikarus was afraid.

They were still struggling for control of the spear. Ikarus opened his mouth, and Jehamiah slammed his forehead into the Razielim's face, bloodying his nose. As the pain caused him to falter, Jehamiah hooked one leg behind Ikarus' knee and shoved. Both clutching the naginata, they fell to the ground with the Turelim on top.

The battle-crazed warrior drove the spear-shaft across his enemy's throat and bore down with all his colossal weight and strength. Ikarus struggled, fighting a rising sense of panic, but to no avail. He was completely outmatched, unable now to even focus his superior telekinetic blasts.

Across the room, Cellidane grimaced at the sight of the uneven conflict. But she had graver concerns. The two other Turelim were rising to their feet. Cellidane fired two more shots, and this time when they connected the vampires were sent soaring back into the passageway to disappear from sight. Cellidane swore in despair. She knew Ikarus was losing.

The cold metal crushed into the Razielim's throat, and he flailed at his opponent ineffectively. The Turelim lieutenant was slobbering with joy, and the blood from his ruined face dripped into Ikarus' gaping mouth. The Razielim tasted the salty sweetness, found it vaguely unsatisfying. Suddenly, through his despair, it came to him: he was no longer just a vampire, but a vampire wraith. And Jehamiah's blood, his soul, was open. Drawing on a hunger more intrinsic to him now than strength or power, Ikarus sucked in from his very essence, and flowing pale energy poured from Jehamiah's bleeding face.

The Turelim gasped, feeling his vitality leave him. He released the spear, and Ikarus shoved him back. Jehamiah suddenly realized what was happening, and before Ikarus could clamber to his feet he quickly stabbed his taloned foot down into the Razielim's belly, raking along his flesh. Ikarus screamed, and the soul transfer stopped abruptly.

Jehamiah was furiously raising his arms to smash the thief, when something hit him in the chest, catapulting him across the room to impact with the wall.

Ikarus looked up, and Cellidane called, "Finish him, Ikarus! He is weakened!"

Ikarus saw Jehamiah slumped against the wall, blinking in confusion. He raised the naginata blade and took aim, fully aware that this might be his only chance to save the one he loved. Jehamiah's head came up, their eyes met. The Turelim snarled in challenge, and Ikarus threw.

The spear soared through the air straight at Jehamiah's chest, and the vampire opened his mouth and screamed out an awesome force blast. The naginata collided with the psychic blow and went spinning off to one side to land with a harsh clang.

Ikarus cursed as Jehamiah began to climb unsteadily to his feet. Again he drew upon the Limbo-born powers within his soul, and the ribbon of Jehamiah's life began to be drawn from his wounds to feed the Razielim wraith. Outraged, Jehamiah pushed shakily against the floor, his energy fading fast. His claw came down on something. Bringing it up, he found it was a broken metal spike. With a glad cry he surged upright and threw the deadly missile at his distant opponent with all his strength.

Ikarus saw the attack coming, but his spectral feeding slowed his reactions. Unable to dodge, he raised his arms to ward his body, and the spike pierced the back of his right claw. He fell to his knees with a whimper of agony. Clutching the shaft, he tried feverishly to pry it loose, but it was lodged tight in the bone.

Meanwhile, Jehamiah had regained his footing. The mad fury that possessed him compensated for the loss of life energy. Two more spikes were lying by his feet and Jehamiah scooped them up eagerly, ready for blood. Another force blast came from Ellich De, but this time he dodged aside. The killer vampire then flung one of the spikes at the second lieutenant, but another Turelim was in the way. The spike speared its heart and it fell with a despairing scream. Jehamiah roared blissfully, glad to be in his element again. Not caring whose blood he spilled now, he bounded towards the nearest Turelim in the circle, wrapped his arm around its throat and sank his last spike into its spine. The Razielim wraith howled and thrashed weakly in his grip, and Jehamiah laughed.

Upon hearing his clan brothers scream, Ikarus lurched to his feet. The pain was still great, but he knew he was the only one who could keep the murderous giant from butchering the entire assembly. And Cellidane. He had made a promise to Raziel, and he would keep it unto death.

Forgetting the pain, Ikarus lowered his shoulder and stumbled forward. Building up steam, he charged into Jehamiah with all the force he could muster. The vampire lieutenant released his dead victim and staggered back, but remained standing. He grasped hold of the Razielim, planted his feet with a grunt and brought them both to a halt. Without hesitation, Jehamiah locked his fists together in a bony mass and brought them thundering down on Ikarus' skull. The Razielim slumped down, dazed. Bellowing with rage, Jehamiah continued to club his enemy's head and back, beating him with savage abandon. Ikarus sagged as the punishing blows rained home. The snarling Jehamiah dragged him upright with one hand and began smashing his fist into his face, pulping the nose and teeth until bone cracked and blood flowed.

Jehamiah then let go, and Ikarus sagged weakly against him. The Turelim vampire lapped the blood greedily off his talons. More, give me more, he exulted, all of what you took from me, before I send you back to the pit!

"Ikarus!" Cellidane screamed imploringly. Locked to her task along with all the rest, she could not bring herself to break away, and yet she could do nothing more to help, as both Ikarus and Jehamiah were now blocked between her by stone columns and her own furiously striving kin. Much as it pained her, their work could not be diminished further, for any reason. Tears flowed down her face as the torture continued unabated.

Ikarus raised his right arm weakly, and Jehamiah kicked him savagely in the ribs, snapping them and piercing his lungs. Then he grabbed Ikarus' outstretched arm by the wrist, planted one foot against his back and pulled. Choking on his own blood, Ikarus tried to scream and only gagged. He was losing, always losing. He heard as much as felt the pain of the bones twisting in his shoulder and arm. Jehamiah strained even harder, panting with delight as he felt the muscles tear and the tendons start to give way. Then with a feral roar, the Turelim gave one last mighty yank, and Ikarus' arm ripped from his body in a gory spray.

Wielding the appendage like a club, Jehamiah lifted it back and slammed it down on Ikarus's already prostrate form. Again and again he struck the Razielim, the sick sound of flesh striking muscle only serving to goad him even further with every blow. His body crushed, Ikarus could not even muster the energy to defend himself. He had been a fool, trying to play the part of the hero. His presence had been of no consequence in one life, what had made him think he could matter in another? There was no point in resisting. At length Ikarus lay completely motionless beneath the barrage.

Jehamiah paused. Then he flung the bloody arm away. The gleaming naginata lay only a few feet from him. Swiftly Jehamiah stalked over to it, picked up the spear and returned to Ikarus. He stood over the broken form, watching it twitch and sob. A low growl of anticipation came from his throat. Then Jehamiah raised the weapon on high and drove it deep into Ikarus' body, impaling him against the floor. The Razielim's claws scrabbled vainly against the stone, and blood leaked from his mouth.

Stepping back from his handiwork, the vampire madman looked up, a hungry gleam in his eyes that could know no satisfaction. He sought out the target of his insane wrath.

"Ellich De," he groaned bloodily. And then he advanced on Cellidane.

Ikarus was dying. He knew only a few moments of life remained to him. Best to just let go. Everything was growing hazy. Through blurred and cracked vision he saw the blood-spattered Jehamiah moving towards Cellidane to kill her. And that reached him. He would never let that happen. For he loved her. His leader. His soul. There was no more room in his life for failure.

As his sight began to fade, as the brutal pain in his broken body receded, Ikarus of the Razielim focused his power one final time. A few feet away, his severed arm trembled. Then it rose up into the air, locked in his telekinetic grip. The spike driven through his hand gleamed with blood. Ikarus' heart stopped, his life fled, but with a last surge of desperate will, the arm shot through the air, and talons and spike plowed into Jehamiah's back to burst from his broad chest.

Jehamiah stumbled, eyes wide with astonishment. He stared at the crimson points protruding from his body. There was no pain, only shock. He turned his head to see Ikarus' corpse, a sad, dead thing. Then he looked back at Ellich De. But that was not whom he saw. To Jehamiah's amazement, standing in the broken ring were no Turelim, but seven Razielim wrapped in a gleaming cocoon, their perfect wings outstretched in glorious wonder. They were beautiful.

Jehamiah looked Cellidane in the eyes, and the madness lifted.

_Yes_, he thought, _this is fitting_. Peace filled him, and Jehamiah, first lieutenant of the Turelim Pride, fell to the ground and died.

From out of the passageway, the two other Turelim emerged at a run, but Cellidane took a cue from Ikarus. The spears the Turelim had left lying on the floor suddenly rose up and drove straight into their bodies, and they dropped dead with surprised shrieks. Cellidane looked over at Ikarus.

"My dear child," she whispered. "Thank you."

From out of the Razielim's corpse, a gray star of life emerged. It hovered over the empty shell, but instead of disappearing into the Spectral Realm, it flowed over to Cellidane's side, taking the place previously occupied by Ikarus. When Cellidane looked over at the two Razielim killed by Jehamiah, she saw their souls too hovering above the Turelim bodies. They had never left. They were still joined in this task, set on completing it. So long as one of them still stood, they could all continue to give their support and power.

As they joined together again, Cellidane felt the love from Ikarus, and so did the rest of them. Upon realizing it, she knew that they had all forgiven her. The last lieutenant of the Razielim had finally found her own peace here, and she was no longer ashamed.

They continued on their way, and none of them heard the sound of running feet coming down the passageway.

* * *

The Soul Reaver burst, and Raziel stood shocked. It had felt like a rejection, a mistake of some kind. This had never happened before, not against the other clan leaders. What had he done wrong?

From the other end of the hall, the metal portal squealed in protest and bulged up slightly under the force of several concentrated Turelim force blasts. Suddenly remembering his peril, Raziel turned on Turel.

Before him, his brother floated silently a few feet off the ground. His back was to Raziel, and he seemed to be paying his elder no attention. His thoughts were only for himself.

_A trick, it was a trick, he cut me!_ Turel thought numbly. Looking down, he saw a long gouge of skin running up his body. But there was no blood, no pain, and even as he watched, the wound quickly closed without leaving a mark. Turel stared.

And stared.

"It cannot hurt me," he whispered softly. His head slowly came up. Then he turned and looked at Raziel.

"You cannot kill me," he said aloud.

Raziel froze. It spoke…it was…

"Turel."

Turel nodded, then glided towards him slowly, and Raziel did not move away. He felt hypnotized by this situation. Turel came to within a few feet of him, and this close Raziel could see his face clearly. The mask of bone was not complete. Around the sunken eyes were pockets of aged, wrinkled flesh, giving his face a miserable cast. And they _were_ Turel's eyes, the same ones Raziel had looked into for centuries. They were not glowing red like the others. They were green with sickly yellow sclera and black pupils, tormented eyes. It really was Turel, his brother. They were together again.

"Father… told me you would… kill me," Turel said slowly, and there was honest confusion in his voice. Raziel could make no response.

Turel licked his lips and leaned forward, his claws twitching, and stared intently at his brother. "He told me," he rasped. "He said I lacked…integrity!" His voice was despairing, needy.

"What did he mean, Raziel?!"

Raziel heard his own words to Kain echoed back at him, and it broke the spell. He looked at Turel, grotesquely pleading for understanding before him, and felt an upsurge of powerful emotions. Betrayal. Shock. Disgust and horror. Sadness. He had been wrong. This thing truly was his brother, but not as he had thought. The beast was not Turel.

Turel was the beast.

Staring at the repugnant sight, Raziel knew the answer to give.

"You should have defended them, Turel," he spoke softly, and Turel jerked back, horrified. It was Father's voice! Coming from Raziel, it was Kain's lethal, soulless voice, filled with disappointment and reproach, the _shame_ of being his father.

Raziel saw Turel's reaction, and from the corner of one glowing eye fell a tear of pure grief. How could you… Turel…

"You should have _saved_ them!"

The words were an accusation, a charge of failure, of a hideous crime, and Turel knew to whom Raziel referred. He drew back, cringing and shaking his head in disbelief.

"No," he croaked despondently. "No, that… that cannot be true." Gaping, he stared at the hideous wreck of a being that was his brother. The eyes burned into him, and he looked away quickly, shivering in cold dread. He covered his face with his claws, hiding desperately from the truth that stood before him. Impossible…he had been wrong? All he had achieved had been for nothing, to no end? Had he doomed himself?

A line of saliva fell from Turel's open jaws, and faint choking sounds emerged from his throat. He lowered his claws and stared at them dully. His distracted gaze then traveled up, to the very heights of his Tower's throne room. So much time, great deeds and atrocities alike committed, and he had nothing to show for it. Because of Kain. He had done it all for Kain, even going so far as to slay his own brother's entire clan. He had not wanted to, truly. But Kain had ordered it. Surely Raziel understood that…?

I have to tell him, Turel realized suddenly. He has to understand, I have to make him believe.

"You do not understand, Raziel," he whispered hoarsely, and Turel looked back into his brother's glowing white eyes.

"You cannot mean to kill me for that," Turel pleaded. "It was not my fault. Do you not see?"

"He told me to."

The words echoed in his ears, and Raziel went cold, like a block of gray marble. The Soul Reaver shot from his fist. A roaring filled his head.

"_What_?!" he intoned in a strangled gurgle.

"He did, he told me to," Turel insisted. "You understand, I was only…"

Raziel suddenly stepped forward. "And yet here you face me alone, Turel." He advanced, and his brother slid back, raising a frightened claw to ward him off.

"No, stay back, do you not hear me? He told me to!" Turel's voice was rising, becoming more shrill and panicked. He could not die now, he still had so much left to do!

"He has abandoned you for your crimes," Raziel continued grimly.

"He told me to!" He could not be held accountable! It was Father's fault, not his! Foam dripped from Turel's lips. Father, where are you?! Do not kill me, Father!

"What's the matter, Turel?!" Raziel's voice grew to a shout, and his brother shuddered, eyes rolling madly in their sockets. The Reaver reached up and dragged away his face-wrap, revealing his mangled face.

"DID YOUR BUTCHERY NOT YIELD THE DESIRED RESULT?!!!"

And Turel threw back his head and screamed. It was sound without reason, the voice of insanity. He launched into the air and stared down with mad eyes that had reached their limit.

"HE! TOLD! ME! TO!!!"

And Raziel ran.

Turel attacked, his force ram ripping apart the stone. Raziel headed straight for the floor portal. As the trail of destruction followed him, the stone floor suddenly blew downwards into the room below. Dozens of Turelim screamed in panic before being smashed to pieces. The whole ceiling of the lower antechamber came down, and the crystal floor cracked horribly, spraying knife-sharp shards into the air.

Yes! Raziel exulted.

Behind him, Turel was preparing for another barrage, all the while weeping and gibbering insanely. Raziel saw what he needed. The heaping remnants of his clan flag still burned furiously. Rushing towards it, Raziel grabbed the rotten fabric and balled it up, heedless of the flames. He turned, ran forwards, and with a mighty yell, lobbed the flaming orb straight at Turel.

Instinctively afraid of fire, the madman dodged aside.

And as he did, Raziel fired a force blast straight into the fiery missile. It exploded, spattering flaming scraps about the room.

Directly behind Turel.

The vampire lord screamed now with pain as the burning pellets covered him. Unlike the Fire Glyph, these were natural flames, not to be balked by his tough skin. The moldering material clung to him, to his hair and his delicate wings. Turel shrieked and thrashed, his concentration broken. His wings gave out and he fell straight down, landing clumsily. He beat frantically at the small flames.

Raziel ran towards him. Turel was momentarily preoccupied with the immediate pain. This was his best chance. He had to get in close, it would not work otherwise. Raziel ducked beneath Turel's sweeping arms and began to run in a close circle around him.

Just a little more time. Turel had still not noticed. Raziel was almost done with the first revolution. One more, only one more! A glowing ribbon began to unwind in his wake.

Then Turel pivoted swiftly, coming about to face him. A huge claw came up, and the Turelim prince howled in fury.

No! So close!

And Turel's head snapped back, eyes wide and frightened. His long arms drew in and clutched his chest, and from his mouth burst a single word.

"JEHAMIAH!"

Done!

A circle of white light formed around Turel. It blazed, tightened in, and suddenly Turel's arms were pinned to his sides by Dumah's spectral constriction band. The glowing ring of energy crushed in upon him, but he was still in shock over the death of his first-born child. Raziel ran around him and raised the Soul Reaver.

He drew on his will, his determination to see this thing done, focusing all his pain and loss into his symbiotic weapon. And with a dull boom, a huge ball of purple-white power shot forth and struck Turel in the chest. It lifted him off the ground and he arced through the air, to fall through the hole he had blown in the throne floor.

Turel hit the crystal floor, and the transparent material, already damaged from his previous attack, gave way completely under the force of his landing.

With a garbled cry, Turel fell straight down the main shaft of his Tower.

The lord of the Turelim plummeted towards the crescent stone platform far below. Halfway down he finally realized his danger and strained against the bonds which held him tight. He felt the energy band begin to give, to break, but too late. The stone rushed up to greet him, and he landed on his side with a sickening shock that echoed and reechoed throughout his Tower, heralding the fall of its master.

Several of his children soon hit the floor moments later, but some missed the platform and fell straight down the rest of the way, to the Tower's base and the main opening. Raziel watched them fall, and keep falling. They went completely out of the Tower, and were swallowed up by the clouds. Light came up clearly from the hole. The telekinetic barrier that sealed the Tower of Turel was now open. His children had accomplished that much. Unconsciously he dragged his face-wrap back up.

It remained to be seen whether the rest would go as easily.

* * *

There were now more corpses in the Open Eye than living beings. The Razielim strained their power to the utmost, fighting for every precious second. Each of them felt a disturbing turmoil within their souls, and they knew that somewhere off in the distance, Raziel had finally confronted Turel. But they did their best to ignore this sensation.

But they could not quite ignore it when over a dozen Turelim entered the room, led by Anhat.

The first things Turel's third lieutenant saw were the two impaled corpses at his feet, and he recognized them as his own minions. He perused the rest of the chamber, but Raziel was nowhere in sight. All he saw were Ellich De and his Turelim cohorts, still actively guiding the Tower.

Confused, he was just stepping forward to liberate his expired aides, when Ellich De suddenly shouted, "Anhat! Come here."

The vampire marshal started, then loped obediently over to his superior. As he traversed the room, he suddenly gave a horrified gasp.

Jehamiah lay dead on the floor, a severed arm protruding from his body.

Anhat rushed towards him, but Ellich De roared, "Stop!"

"But Sir Ellich, what has…?"

"Jehamiah went mad and attacked us, Anhat," Ellich De responded. "He slew three of my brethren and those other two before we were able to put an end to him. He has received the death he deserved."

The younger vampire stared at Jehamiah's body, then at his dead subordinates, and lastly at Ellich De. Something did not feel right here.

Ellich De turned his head to face Anhat, his eyes still closed. "You seem distressed, little one. There is no need for that. I will personally explain this incident to Turel, but for now, I order you to leave here, and take your rabble with you. With Jehamiah dead, I am now first lieutenant."

Anhat hesitated, touched by strong misgivings. The enmity between his two superior officers was not unknown to him. Finally he inclined his head reluctantly. "Yes, Sir Ellich. Only allow me to revive your compatriots and my fallen comrades and we will depart." He stepped over to a supine form.

"No!" Ellich De thundered. Anhat turned and stared suspiciously.

"Do not revive them here. The resulting spectral disturbance might disrupt our already tenuous hold on the Tower even further. We can barely manage as it is with our ranks depleted. Just take your fallen away from the premises and restore them elsewhere. They will hardly mind the wait, and I should know."

Anhat watched Ellich De closely. The elder Turelim's face betrayed nothing. Then he gave a resigned nod. Ellich De did have a reputation for bizarre superstitions. He might as well honor them.

"We will take our leave at once, Sir Ellich," he said with a hasty bow. Gesturing to his retinue to pick up their dead fellows, he was following them out of the room, when Anhat remembered something. He paused and looked back.

"And what befell the traitor Raziel, Sir Ellich?"

The vampire magician snorted contemptuously, his eyes still closed. "Are you blind, Anhat? Do you see the renegade anywhere here?"

"But, the Tower's halt a short while ago, we assumed that…"

"I told you that Jehamiah attacked us!" Ellich De snarled angrily. "Did you expect us to continue our work when we were about to be slaughtered by that lunatic?"

Anhat froze.

Then he lunged down the hall. Coming upon his followers carrying one of the dead Turelim, he grasped the spear sunk into its body and pulled it free. With a gasping roar, the Turelim came back to life. Recognizing Anhat, it clutched at him desperately.

"Treachery, Sir Anhat! They murdered Jehamiah and slew us too! They are in league with Raziel!"

Anhat's face twisted with rage, and he spun on his heel. Quaking violently, he raised the spear and pointed it back at the ring of sorcerers.

"Kill them!" he commanded, and his minions swept forward with bloodlust in their eyes.

* * *

Throughout the colossal airshaft of the Tower of Turel, despairing cries filled the air as Turelim occupying the stairwell gazed on the sight of their patriarch cast down from the heights.

Raziel stepped forward, grasped his wings and jumped over the edge. Like an avenging angel, he began to glide silently down.

His descent was not unnoticed. Telekinetic projectiles shot through the air, following him earthwards. Eventually he became tired of dodging and simply unclenched his ragged strips to drop the remaining distance.

Turel lay in the center of the platform, unmoving. Broken stone, crystal, and his own children were scattered about. His limbs were twisted, and his eyes were closed. The energy band was gone.

Raziel walked towards his vanquished brother. The stray force blasts that followed him began to diminish, their senders unwilling to risk striking their lord by mistake.

Drawing up beside him, he stared at his brother's face, marred as it was by pain. Raziel raised the Soul Reaver, and Turel's eyes came open, sought him out. For a time their gazes met. Raziel expected Turel to beg. He brought the tip of the Soul Reaver up to waver before his brother's eye. He was just about to spit his condemnation of the monster, when Turel's eyes flashed, and without warning, something in Raziel's skull exploded. He cried out, and the Soul Reaver was gone.

Raziel fell to his knees, clutching his head. There was so much pain, it was making him sick. Green ichor flowed into his eyes, and he could feel the cracks in the bone. A shadow engulfed him, and he looked up to find the beast looming over him.

Turel swatted him away, and Raziel went flying. The ancient vampire followed him. The watching Turelim now cheered with joy, and the Tower rang with their clamor. Raziel felt the pull of the Spectral Realm, calling him back to heal. Turel loomed over him.

"I know," Turel grated. "I know what you intend to do. Escape into your ghost world, grow strong, and return directly to slay me? Is that your plan, Raziel?"

The undead prince reached down and enveloped Raziel in one crushing fist. He hoisted the Reaver of Souls up into the air. "Go on. I want to see you try. Fly to your refuge. You will find me there waiting for you." Turel smashed Raziel to the floor, grinding him into the stone with relish, and Raziel bit back a scream of pain. Turel leaned in close to whisper to him. "I know your tricks, brother. I have seen the world you came back from, and I will use its laws to end your existence forever. So you can no longer die? There are worse things."

Turel's voice was a mad hiss. "There are rooms in this Tower, Raziel, rooms I constructed especially for you. Made just to your liking. But you may only choose one, for it is much less a domicile than it is a Cage. Each chamber contains a prison with invisible walls, my children's telekinetic gift, rerouted through my genius. They will bind you fast. Unable to move or even speak, you will be a living ornament, in this world and the next. I have made sure that the effect travels across the void. Incapable of even moving to injure yourself, you will know, for all eternity, that you will never kill me!"

Turel swung Raziel up. From out of his mouth burst a psychic maelstrom of violence, and this time it hit Raziel fully, smashing his bones and flinging him away like a broken toy. He skidded helplessly across the floor and came to a stop only a dozen paces from the edge of the platform.

The Reaver of Souls coughed and twitched weakly. Turel slithered towards him. Behind them now was gathered a mob of Turelim, screaming for blood and goading Turel on. Heaving in his breath, the lord of vampires arched his head back and howled a chilling note of madness, and the floor seemed to quake beneath it.

"I am Turel, Clan King and lord of this world! None can kill me, neither vampire, man nor spirit. I am supreme!" He reached Raziel and once again picked him up to dangle in the air. Teeth gritted, he snorted like a deranged bull. "But he told you that you would, did he not?! Yes, I see his game. They were all arrayed against me, trying to restrain my strength. They feared the inevitable rise of the Turelim over their degenerate clans!"

Turel's voice ascended to a shrieking pitch. "Could a weakling like you truly bring down a Dynasty? Of course not! Dumah, Rahab, they all knew it was impossible! But their jealousy of me was too great! I see through their plots, oh yes! They wanted me to die, so they allowed you to kill all of them, in order for you to have their power. But my ascension cannot be prevented!"

Turel raised his arms and stared upwards, his mind a chaotic bloom of dementia.

"I see it all clearly now! Only Turelim are pure, the other clans are corrupt! There must be no others, no desecration of my world! A purge is needed once more, until they are all dead, every one of them! "

He brought Raziel up to his face, and his hot breath washed over his brother's broken body.

"Do you hear me, Raziel?!! I will kill them all! I will kill them ALL, and there is nothing you can do to prevent me! _I will butcher this world, and bathe in its blood_!!"

Turel's screaming voice blasted Raziel's senses, and an image thrust into his damaged brain. With it came the sound of pained shrieks and the smell of blood. He saw Razielim impaled, Razielim tortured and beheaded. He saw pleading fledglings thrown onto bonfires to cook like so much meat. He watched the last members of his clan die miserable deaths. And from every scene, every atrocity, he heard the laughter of the monster called Turel.

Raziel looked into his brother's eyes, saw the promise of death there.

"No," he croaked weakly. "Never again."

His claws came up slowly before the hideous face.

"The tragedy is finished, Turel," Raziel whispered.

The talons glowed, then flared into light. With the last of Raziel's magical reserves, the Sunlight Glyph erupted full in Turel's face, and the genocidal lunatic roared, blinded. He dropped Raziel and clutched his face, doubled over in agony. His vision was a burning glare of darkness and afterimages. He could hear his children shouting something. Curse you, stop that noise, I will kill you…!

Before he could complete his threat a harsh whine cut over the din, and a ring of spectral energy wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his body. With a surprised cry, Turel lurched over and fell on his side.

Raziel dragged himself step by painful step behind Turel's back. In silent agony, he grasped the bony covering of his brother's body, and with a titanic heave, lifted the struggling tyrant over his head. He tottered towards the edge of the platform, broken bones straining and grinding under the massive bulk. Turel snarled and thrashed. Behind Raziel, the Turelim who had been beyond the reach of his spell were rushing towards him, but there were only a few feet left.

Then a force blast hit him in the back, and Raziel stumbled to his knees. The world was fading into whiteness, and he toppled forward. But with a last convulsive spasm, he hurled his burden away. Turel hit the edge, tipped over it, and with a terrible shriek, plummeted down the chasm.

The Turelim surrounded him, and Raziel lay still, too exhausted to move.

* * *

A spear drove through Sejm's back, and he died with an agonized wail. Another Turelim decapitated Oneld. Their spirits rose up and hovered over their bodies, still emitting support for the last remaining Razielim, Cellidane. She was almost out of time.

A Turelim raised a spear behind her.

And suddenly, the Tower of Turel rumbled, and came to an abrupt halt. The Turelim staggered, and Cellidane looked up. Floating over the metal globe, the Tower effigy had finally arrived.

They had done it.

Cellidane lowered her arms gratefully, and a spear caught her in the chest. It took her life, but it could not extinguish her soul, and as the pain went away, she spoke one last time.

"Raziel! We are coming!"

As her soul came free, the eight Razielim spirits rocketed past their destroyers and soared down the hall with lightning speed.

* * *

The Turelim drew around him, snarling in homicidal outrage. Raziel could feel his body began to disintegrate. He could not hold on any longer. He was about to pass into the Spectral Realm, when the Turelim suddenly cried out in surprise.

From out of the great tunnel burst the eight Razielim soul orbs, gleaming and sparking with unearthly power. Though invisible to the surrounding horde, the presence of their combined soul energy reached out past physical senses to strike against the slayers of their clan, and the vampires withered before them, unable to bear the divine touch of retribution. They flew forward and clustered about the Reaver of Souls.

He felt them all around him, calling his name. He knew what they wanted, and drew aside his face-wrap. With a wave of selfless delight, one of them flew into his body, restoring him completely. Raziel came to his feet instantly, his mind and body lit with the glow of knowledge. He understood what needed to be done. The other gray souls swirled around him, and a great light began to shine from within his form. It inundated the Tower, rocking it to its foundations and flooding the blood-red stone with a harsh gray luminescence. The Turelim shrieked and fell to the ground in terror.

In the midst of this celestial eruption, Raziel raised his arm. The Soul Reaver sprang straight into the air. His children's souls surged around the weapon, and then with a great crack and blaze of light, they were absorbed into it. The wraith blade flared, sending out a keening note of joy. When the glare died down, the Soul Reaver now burned with a pearly gray radiance.

His eyes flaring with energy and purpose, Raziel leapt forwards and dove headfirst into the chasm.

* * *

Anhat frantically rushed forward. The Tower had stopped! What was going on?! He looked in the basin that controlled the Tower's barrier, and saw the sand moving in a ring around the edge.

The stronghold was open to assault!

He did not know how to control the Tower's movement, but he could at least do something about its vulnerability. "Over here!" he commanded, and the other Turelim clustered about the center of the room.

"Push the sand back into the center with your powers. Do it now!"

In unison, they all responded. A barrage of force blasts struck the swirling lines. They shuddered, paused, and then, their course broken, the stream of sand poured back into the center.

Anhat sighed with relief.

* * *

Turel fell, and as his vision cleared, he could see that the Tower's base was no longer shielded. He was going to be cast outside, into the world, where Kain and his brothers plotted to kill him!

"Help me!!" he screamed and struggled against the energy bond, when suddenly, a force buffeted him from all sides. Not painful, but disorienting, it was like being caught in an invisible blanket. Turel looked around him blearily. He had stopped. He was floating in midair over the Tower's opening. The barrier had been turned back on.

He could feel the telekinetic pressure as it gradually drew him upwards. The spectral band around him was beginning to fade, and his arms were coming free. Turel began to charge his own power. He had won!

Turel opened his mouth to laugh, looked up, and caught a glimpse of Raziel just as the Reaver of Souls streaked in and drove the Soul Reaver into his gut with all the strength and inertia he could muster. The gleaming blade, imbued with the spirits of vampires Turel had slaughtered, pierced the constriction band and tore through his body to come bursting out the other side.

Turel's eyes bulged, his mind made contact with the telekinetic barrier, and the whole thing exploded.

* * *

Within the Open Eye, Anhat felt his racing heart slow. The Tower was secure. Now to attend to its movement.

Something caught his eye. Glancing over, he saw the body of Ellich De crumbling into dust.

Amazed, he stared for a few moments. Before he could take a step to investigate, the sand rippled. Anhat blinked and peered down into the well.

An eruption of telekinetic backlash blew up from the basin. Standing directly over it, Anhat and his minions were torn to shreds. The blast hit the ceiling, the roof caved in, and the Open Eye was buried under tons of rubble.

* * *

The Tower of Turel hung in the sky above Nosgoth, a dark red menace from the heavens. Clouds drifted lazily below.

Without warning, the Tower's base exploded.

A giant plume of red dust billowed forth, and great blocks of rubble trailed long ribbons of it earthward, like dirty comets.

The haze around one of these streaking balls dissipated as it fell, revealing Raziel and Turel.

The Soul Reaver was still buried in Turel's body, but the glowing gray energy had passed from the weapon into the weakened spectral band, revitalizing it and locking the vampire monstrosity in the grip of long-delayed justice. Unable to fly, Turel plummeted headfirst through the clouds, the wind whistling and roaring past him with ever-increasing speed. Shocked, he saw the brown cloud cover of Nosgoth, the surprisingly bright light, for the first time in centuries. The filthy ocean of smog was all around him, and then it was above him. Turel suddenly heard voices, the voices of Razielim whom he had executed 900 years ago.

_Look down, monster. Look down and see where we brought you_

Turel did look down, towards the ground, and what he saw there drove him completely mad. He screamed.

It was there, waiting for him. It was the beginning of all his woes. And it had a name.

The Lake of the Dead.

Far below it churned, a natural formation of intersecting rivers draining down in an endless whirlpool. The touch of water was deadly to vampires, as Raziel well knew. He had realized within the Open Eye that Turel was too well defended, that there was practically nothing in his Tower that could be counted on to kill him. But outside the Tower was another story. And so he had ordered his children to guide the fortress here, to the closest large body of water in Nosgoth. It just happened to be the very same spot where Turel had killed him.

The two brothers dropped straight towards the Lake, and Turel was transfixed by it, wailing mindlessly. Raziel withdrew the Soul Reaver from the madman's body. Lunging forward, he grabbed a handful of Turel's wind-blown hair, planted his feet and yanked hard. The vampire prince's head snapped up, his terrified eyes met Raziel's, and the sight of the two glowing pits forced him back to sanity.

For several seconds they only stared at each other, locked in this moment as the wind rushed by and the earth rushed up. Then Raziel spoke, in a harsh, grating snarl that carried his hatred clearly to Turel's ears.

"Do you recall my clan?!" His voice swelled to a roar. "DO YOU RECALL THEIR FACES?!!!"

"NO!" Turel shrieked desperately. "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

"YOU THINK ABOUT THEM," Raziel shouted, releasing Turel and lifting his wingstrips, "AND BURN IN HELL!!!"

The wind filled his pinions, he shot up into the air, and Turel watched his brother rise above him.

No.

His muscles bunched, and Turel heaved outwards. The spectral constriction band stretched and then snapped with a wail of protest. The Razielim swarmed around him, and Turel bellowed victoriously, spreading his wings, his lovely wings that would now save him.

As he did, the up-rushing wind caught hold of them. The flimsy flaps bulged, filled with air. Stretched past their strength, the wings ripped to ragged pieces with a wet tearing sound. Turel roared.

And hit the water.

The current swept him along and under. Water poured into his open mouth, gushed into the gaping wound left by the Soul Reaver. The caustic fluid ate at his eyes and his tongue, burned away his vocal chords and his organs. The raging torrent tossed him around, stripping him of all sense of balance and direction. Blood leaked out in a gory cloud. And then, weakened by centuries of forced telekinetic manipulations, finally at its limits, Turel's body caved in on itself, imploding from the internal and external pressures. Scraps of bone and flesh were carried away, sucked down into the lightless depths of which no man may speak.

In the world above, the ravens circled over the Lake, cawing out in hoarse tones.

It was all the funeral dirge Turel would receive.

* * *

For a split-second, everything on Nosgoth was still. And then life resumed, gratefully. It was as if a great threat had been removed, and everywhere it seemed somehow safer, more hopeful.

Raziel was exhausted, emotionally drained. He drifted slowly downwards, and the wind blew softly now against him. Only one final duty remained.

The Reaver of Souls released his wings and dropped down into the center of the Lake of the Dead. It pulled him to the bottom, and with a disorienting flash, Raziel once again found himself in the chamber of the Elder God.

The great winding tentacles still sprouted from the ceiling, and the cone of swirling immaterial water bore down from the center, but the Elder himself made no acknowledgement of Raziel, which was fine by him. This had always been a personal matter.

What he sought was not here, but he could sense its location. Without another glance at the Elder, he turned and left the chamber.

Raziel made his way up the corridor and past the Warp Gate. A soft susurrus of disturbance came from ahead, the room of the Soul Fountain. The Reaver entered it calmly.

A few green globs of soul energy flitted through the ether, and then departed quickly. They seemed bothered by what was going on here, in this normally peaceful place. In the center of the room hung a monstrously large soul, a flaring supernova of angry red, sickly yellow, and white. Whirling around this brute were seven balls of gray light. They harried it, hindering its movement and slowing its escape. Striving desperately, the great soul could not dislodge its assailants.

Raziel called out to them, and they streaked away to gather about him. From each of them came a hushed plea. They were tired, and wished to rest. Understanding, Raziel accepted their decision without question. He lowered his face-wrap, and the souls of the Razielim sped joyously into his mouth. Each intake shook him, and he shuddered, their life force tingling with recognition through his spectral form. Then with a long-suffering sigh of release, it was done. Their task was over, and they were all free.

Raziel looked around for the pulsing mega-soul, and found it bobbing clumsily towards the exit. Its inept flight almost filled him with pity. But at last he raised his arms and sucked inwards, catching the taste and feel of the soul. It swung towards him, resisting, but ultimately helpless. The soul thundered into his astral body, and Raziel fell to his knees, power coursing through him like lightning. He felt his mind and consciousness swell, broadening with an undreamt of panorama of new existence. A reordering was going on within his soul, and an expansion. He felt powerful, yet also frail. This was different from the other times. It felt like something was trying to impress itself upon him. At first he resisted the intrusion, but then he recognized it was not malignant. It offered no harm. He accepted the change, and felt an outspreading infusion of something new, before it settled in and became part of him.

For the briefest instant they touched, and each knew the other one completely.

_I'm sorry_

_I forgive you_

When Raziel awoke, he was alone.

But there was something different. He had to find out what. So he ran.

Leaping up rises and clambering over walls, he sped through the ancient grotto. At last his racing feet brought him out of the drowned catacombs, into the perpetual half-light of Nosgoth's shadow-self. There he found what he sought, a planar portal. Raziel stepped over it, exhilaration and anticipation surging through him. He cast the Shift Glyph.

The physical world welcomed him in, but not as he was. What materialized from out of nowhere was not what had stood in the Spectral Realm.

Raziel raised his arms in wonder. From his forearms now stretched his wings, but no longer the ripped tatters he was accustomed to. Now they were whole, smooth and perfect, running from his back to his arms. He knew how to use them. Raziel concentrated, feeling it build up quickly within him, and then let it out. A stream of telekinetic force pushed downwards. He shot straight up into the sky, not just gliding or hovering, but flying, actually flying!

As he had only once before in his life, Raziel soared and swam through the air, sometimes against the wind, other times with it. He laughed and shouted, exulting in his newborn freedom, born aloft on the gift of his new wings. What had been stolen by his father was now returned by his brother, a last act of contrition and love.

And so the world of Nosgoth turned, with creatures scampering or swimming over it.

But Raziel flew.

FIN…?


	8. Epilogue: Godhood

**Epilogue**: Godhood

Kain watched the struggle between his two sons escalate, and their pain caused him no distress. Calmly, his cold ochre eyes took in the events as they transpired. The Razielim were slaughtered, and Kain still watched. Raziel plunged the Soul Reaver into Turel's body, and Kain did not blink. The two of them plummeted earthwards, crying out their souls' fury, and Kain gave no sign of unease.

Then Turel struck the surface of the Lake, and the vampire god staggered.

Raging torture fired along the nerves through his whole body. He could feel the water around him, eating away at his flesh and burning inside him, but it was nothing compared to the rupture in his soul. The confusion and agony was overwhelming, threatening to drag him into death along with his son. Overwhelmed, he sank to his knees. Kain had felt this way once before, when he had stood by as Raziel was executed in a corresponding fashion. But then he had been surrounded by his other sons, and their presence had served to alternately bolster him and warn him to show no weakness before them. He had come through that torment with no outward sign of disturbance, and his rule had continued unchallenged. In the ensuing centuries he had watched this scene a thousand times over, watched it until the shock had faded and he could weep no more. But never, in all the years, had Kain felt it as he did now, felt the pain as his son burned and drowned to death.

Almighty pain engulfed him, as half a world away the vampire prince's body collapsed under the raging torrent and was smashed into pieces. A final cry of despair, Turel's last, was heard only by his Father. Then it was over, and Kain lay on the cold stone floor alone, teeth gritted against the pain to keep from crying out. His limbs were slack, unresponsive, as the last vestiges of almost-death faded slowly. He shivered uncontrollably with the memory of it. The pain went away, but the wounds on his soul left him momentarily drained and unable to move. Helpless, the God of Nosgoth lay on the ground, a tumbled deity vulnerable to any attack. The lowliest human could have killed him now. But there were no humans here. Indeed, nothing lived in these lowest depths of the Cavern of the Chronoplast, and Kain was left to himself to heal from this experience as much as he could.

Half an hour later, Kain arose. His muscles trembled slightly, but otherwise he seemed restored to full control. The pathos effect was terrible. Kain often had wondered whether or not his own children had felt this way upon losing one of their offspring. But he had never brought it up. Something like this was much too personal, too painful to be discussed with anyone. The same thing had happened with his other children, but never to this extent. Perhaps it was because he had not been watching when they had been slain. To be sure he had felt it, but the feeling had passed swiftly, borne away along with his blessings for his sons' spirits. But he had been unable to resist the temptation to watch the fall of Turel. The event was so necessary to the fate of his world that he had needed to see with his own eyes that it was carried out.

The portal before him still reflected the world above. In it, the Tower of Turel lurched across the sky, mortally wounded. As Kain watched, the floating mountain sank slowly towards the ground. Blown off course by Turel's last attack, the Tower had drifted aimlessly, no longer guided by any hand. Without any overriding impetus, the Turelim legions had been unable to find their way to any of their familiar settlements. At length, bereft of the infusion of fresh members into their ranks, the Atlas Legions had simply given out, one by one. Exhausted, they had fainted dead away in their efforts, and with each loss the Tower felt the pull of Nosgoth's gravity just a little more.

Eventually, the remaining Legion's efforts were in vain, and the Tower of Turel settled in finally to land upon the ground, its crumbling base of desert-born rock striking the earth with a continent-shaking shudder. Two of the Tower's four sub-structures split off and toppled to the ground, and great cracks split the side of the main fortress, but other than that, the Tower held. Once again it had become a part of this planet. Turelim began to exit the structure shakily. Some of them supported the dazed remnants of other clans, former tortured prisoners now brought into the light by their captors, united in their shared distress. Amid the ruins of the sub-towers, Kain could spy the gutted wreckage of one of the four main meeting halls. Though ravaged and opened to the sky, he saw that the corresponding statue of himself still stood, miraculously free of damage. Carved from black glass, it remained in looming silence, towering with ageless dispassion over the fleeing vampires that walked in its shadow. A symbolic view, Kain thought.

The Tower of Turel was soon abandoned, its only inhabitants being the dead. In time it would become a cursed place, a thing of legend that no being ever dared to approach. Alone on the barren plain of its final descent, the entire bloody structure seemed humbled and dejected, no longer borne aloft by its creator's insane dream.

Kain stepped back, and the image in the portal faded into darkened obscurity. He turned and paced slowly down the corridor, lost in thought.

One's dreams were quite important. They showed the inner workings of the heart, mind and soul, of which most beings are often unaware. Dreams were very powerful, Kain knew. He had founded his empire on a dream, and he had let his son die for a nightmare.

He was the oldest of all vampires, the most powerful of a mighty race. Unbounded potential lay within him. Some of the changes he had experienced in his long life were obvious to the casual observer, while others were not. Kain's abilities were occasionally a mystery even to himself, skills beyond his conscious control. Over time he had developed a certain facility for them. But there was one that was ever beyond his reach.

Kain looked upon it as a presentiment, a temporal premonition, possibly due to his connection to the Chronoplast. Sometimes, when he slept, Kain would dream, and he would see things that he could not deny, whose meaning was always clear to him. After the death of Raziel and the condemnation of his clan, the Empire had gone through a massive reorganization, in which boundary lines were shifted and power games were recalibrated. As a result of this new order, his children seemed to have grown even more aggressive. Kain had watched as the political backbiting and court intrigue increasingly escalated into outright combat, if not war. These disturbances did not concern him, he was already preoccupied with far greater efforts. So long as they were available and obedient to his will, the children of Kain were allowed to do as they pleased, within limits, of course. Secure in his godhood, Kain had let matters stand.

Nearly a century later, the last of the Razielim were all but extinct. Kain had long since lost interest in the resolution of that particular edict, and could not present himself at the remaining little blood sports even if he had wanted to. At this time, he had felt a State of Change drawing upon him, and had retreated into seclusion to await the result. During the subsequent hibernation and torpor, Kain's normally untroubled gestation had been interrupted by a peculiar vision.

It was like unto a dream, except for one thing: the cold. He could feel and smell the cold. Kain had suddenly found himself atop a mountain that soared high into the heavens. The sky was open and clear above him, and stars shone down. He had not seen them for centuries, but this oddity was not what drew his attention. All around him the wind blew, shrieking with a voice that could only be described as terrified. It cut through him, leaving him trembling at its passing. From atop his perch, Kain looked down, and he could see the whole world from where he stood. The sight left him chilled to the bone, for what he saw was a graveyard.

Corpses covered the landscape, the bodies so numerous they hid the ground. Dumahim, Melchahim, Zephonim, all the clans of Nosgoth were represented in this cemetery. He could see the mighty oceans and rippling streams clogged with the bodies of dead Rahabim. The smell of blood came up to him in a stinking cloud, no longer appetizing, but befouled and long spilt. There were not even crows picking at the dead. Kain then knew that this was because his world itself was dead, deprived of every last living thing, whether vampire, human, or animal. Nosgoth had been slain. No, not just slain.

Murdered.

The cloud cover was back then, but the clouds were black. There were no more stars, and the world seemed dim. Kain could no longer see. Suddenly he felt something against his foot. Calling forth a light, Kain had looked down to find the body of a Turelim at his feet. Reeling back in revulsion, he stumbled over another corpse, and another. The mountain was littered with dead Turelim, ripped to pieces and scattered about in a grisly blanket of sundered flesh. Kain smelled terror in the wind.

He heard something behind him, and turned. A great black shape was moving through the darkness, panting and heaving with animal mindlessness. It pushed through the lawn of body parts, heading straight for him. Kain did not retreat, and the huge figure came to tower over him. He stared upwards into the thing's face, but could make nothing out. For some time they both stood there, facing one another, while the maniac wind whipped through Kain's hair.

Then the monster raised its arms towards him. They were long and thin, and from its claws dangled two bodies. One of them was Raziel, torn and bloodied, his beauty stripped from him in wanton brutality. He had been massacred most foully, and the look of pain on his face caused his Father to shudder.

The other body was Turel.

A gaping hole lay in his chest where his heart should have been, but otherwise he was unharmed. Unseeing green eyes stared fixedly at nothing. As Kain watched, the dead lips suddenly moved, and a word was whispered from them, a soft cold sound.

_Father_, he spoke, _Father_.

Over and over the word was uttered silently. Then the monster dropped both bodies, and Kain realized to his horror that it was now the creature itself that was murmuring the word. _Father._ _Father. Father_. He clapped his hands to his ears, unwilling to listen. Kain then rose up into the air, floating over it. The thing's unseen head swiveled up to watch him. _Father_, it said, and one arm gestured out over the dead world. _Father_, it said again, and the other arm took in the massacred Turelim nation. Then it raised both hands to him in supplication. _Father_.

Kain flew higher from it, shaking his head in denial and revulsion. At his refusal, the creature flinched. And then it howled, leaping into the air to chase him. Kain did not even think of fighting. Instead he fled, flying as fast as he could over the dead face of the world. Always the thing was right behind him, reaching out with its great killer hands for him. Terrified, he flew on, but there was nowhere left to go. Everyone was dead. He could only keep flying and flying, knowing that it would chase him forever, and that it would catch him eventually. And then, without warning, Kain awoke.

Shaken to the depths of his soul, Kain had at first suspected this was some kind of trick, a new diversion of Ariel's to plague his thoughts and bend him to her will. But he had then realized that this was his new gift, one that he could neither refuse nor control. He had been given a vision, a warning of the future of his planet. He knew what awaited his children. Although he had not been cognizant of it during the nightmare, he now realized what it was that had chased him so ardently. It was his son. It was Turel.

Kain stepped into the Chronoplast's cavernous interior and found that his previous adjustments had been completed. It was time to begin on the next phase of his plan. But the memories still troubled him, balking any attempts at coordination of the machine. The dream had told him that Turel would become a monster, even if he was not one already. Kain could sense that the last of the Razielim were close to eradication, and he knew that Turel was the one who would destroy them. It was a sign of things to come. He had been horrified at the prospect. Turel had always been loyal and devoted, but he had never been deranged. His second eldest had never betrayed him, had always carried out his wishes satisfactorily. How then could he possibly come to such a conclusion?

The more Kain pondered the problem, the more he became convinced of one thing: there could be only one cause of Turel's dementia, and that was himself, Kain. He took the time to review certain actions in his past, saw how his obvious preference for Raziel over all others had blinded him to the development of Turel's personality. His attempts to attract his Father's eye had grown more elaborate and grandiose. His Tower was only the latest attempt to please a patriarch who had ever overlooked him in favor of his brother. Considered second only to Raziel, it must have seemed to Turel that his brother was an obstacle to his Father's supreme affection. Had Turel, indeed, been secretly pleased at Raziel's execution? In time, would he have actually gone so far as to arrange for his sibling's death on his own? Though he did not like to admit it, Kain did not discount this as impossible. All too clearly now he saw how he had abused Turel. In all their lives together, he had looked on his son as another supplicant, a worshipper of the god that was his Father. He had not encouraged him, shown him love. The only time that he had acknowledged his son was when he had saved Raziel's life. How that must have galled Turel, to be looked on in a subservient position even in triumph. Kain did not doubt that, if allowed to live, Turel would carry out the implications of this foreboding dream to the letter.

At first, he considered killing the boy outright. After all, he had willingly sacrificed one son, why not another? But Kain immediately recognized the danger there. It was his own carelessness, his disregard for his son as a person that had given birth to this calamity's potential. If he slew Turel, would not another of his children quickly take up the call to herald the death of his world? No, Kain must have no direct part in this action. Then he wondered if maybe it was not yet past the time. If he could find it in himself to grant Turel the affection that he so craved, could he not change his son for the better, and thereby avert the apocalypse before it occurred? But in his heart, he knew it was too late for that. He had failed as a parent far too long for any kind of reparation to take effect now. No, Turel would continue on in his obsession, desperately sacrificing everything and everyone to his Father, until there was nothing left alive on this planet. Turel's mania would be the death of their world. Unless something stopped him.

For this planet to have a future, Turel would have to die, that was a certainty. That dreamt-of slaughter would ruin everything Kain had worked to achieve, for the repercussions of such an act, the death of an entire world past all hope of continued existence, would surely be an event too titanic to be corrected even with time streamer manipulation. Of this Kain was sure, having read of similar immutable time loci in the annals of the Chronoplast's records. He would have to divine some way to prevent Turel from reaching the point of annihilation. Upon further exploration of the Chronoplast's abilities, Kain had been relieved to see how the preservation of a few of Raziel's offspring could be used to insure that when their clan chief did return from the Netherworld, he would have a secret army with which to catch Turel off-guard and thereby bring about the monster's total destruction. So Kain had played upon a lingering relationship between Raziel's first lieutenant and a conniving Turelim lackey to rid his planet of a continued Razielim presence, but to also leave behind a small cadre of Raziel's spawn rendered inert within the heart of Turel's fortress. When the time was right, these long-dead vampires would rise again to strike a fatal blow against Turel within his own house. Their presence would inspire Raziel to daring actions he might otherwise not consider before it was too late, hindered as he might be by sentiment. The new Soul Reaver would be empowered with the means to slay his brother without mercy. Thus did Kain institute his long-range plans, which had finally come to fruition today.

The threat was over. Turel had been killed in the very act of devoting himself to his genocidal future. The assault to establish Turelim rule over the other vampires of Nosgoth would never arise, and once again Kain was free to orchestrate a new past and future for himself and his world. Raziel would play the part of the dutiful son as he always had, convinced of his own free will in this game. All was well. His sons were dead. Satisfied, Kain once again raised a hand to affect changes in the operating system of the Chronoplast, when he paused. He remained frozen for an instant. Then his hand dropped back to his side.

"My sons," he whispered, "are dead."

It felt strange to say it. The words made it seem so real. They tasted odd.

"Dead," he repeated. It was true. They were gone.

Kain stared off into space silently. He was remembering, centuries in the past, when all of his children had come together, not to bicker or argue, but to marvel at the architectural triumph that Turel had created. Unbeknownst to any of his children, Kain had been in attendance, cloaked in mist and shadow, his presence undetectable even by his own sons. Everywhere they had went he had followed, and he had shared in their amazement and appreciation of the Tower. It was a physical testament to his reign, to the superiority of vampires. In all of history, nothing so grand had ever been achieved by any human agency. By his children had this wonder come about, this triumph over and utilization of nature, and it was because he, Kain, had brought this world into existence. It was all due to him, and this had been most magnificently exhibited in the four colossi made in his likeness, which Kain had looked upon with no small amount of undue pride. He had reveled in this edifice that shouted to the world what vampires could achieve. Almost, he had revealed himself to his sons. When they were laughing and drinking together, he had almost manifested his presence, to show his appreciation to Turel. But in the end, he had not. He had hung back, and let them celebrate without him. Why, he had wondered? Why did I choose not to? What possible reason could there be to distance myself here?

He knew the answer now. He could not show Turel approval, could not express for him his love. If he had, then Turel would not have become what he did, would not have turned into a monster. Then he and Raziel might have settled their score peacefully and gone on to challenge Kain with the Turelim legions at their backs. Only one small act of love was needed to keep events from proceeding in accordance with his designs. Kain knew why he had not told Turel he loved him.

"Destiny," he whispered heavily.

Kain stared at his claws vacantly, curling and flexing them. Six claws, for six sons. They had even made a traditional greeting out of it. And now they were dead. He had given birth to his children only to watch them die. Where was the difference between vampire and human, then? Was it only a matter of lifespan? Did a similar irrevocable doom await even him, Kain, the God of Nosgoth?

Kain passed a weary hand before his face in thought. These problems had plagued his heart for centuries. But eventually, he had found the answer to all of them, and it had convinced him, more than the accolades and the use of the title itself, that he, and his race, were gods.

It was all a matter of clarity. Strip away the lingering remnants of humanity, and you see things as they really are. Vampires and humans could fight and die, they could love and destroy, live incredibly long lives and end with nothing to show for it. Of course they were similar, vampires were born from humans, after all. And it was in this birthing that Kain had realized the fundamental difference between them. Human beings, as a species, were incapable of surviving without one another. This was no pretty turn of phrase, it was a biological fact. Every inch of the planet's surface could be covered with humans, and if none of them interacted with one another, the entire population would be extinct in just about a century. For the species to continue, there would always have to be at least one man and one woman coming together, each aware of the necessity of the other's presence, in order for new life to be created. Humans thought of themselves in terms of duality, plurality. Their individual conception was limited by their natural inability to engender offspring by themselves. A human being was incapable of producing life on its own. This was not so with vampires. Kain had been the last of his race in a world of men. With no help from anyone else he had proceeded to give birth to six vampire sons, and they had then gone out and transformed all but a fraction of the race of man into vampires. One by one, it had been done, until the vampire race had supplanted humanity as the dominant species of this world. That was his glory. Godhood lay within it.

The concept of destiny necessitates the existence of a God, a highest power that, on its own, creates everyone else, each made with a purpose that is called destiny. Therefore God, by definition, must be alone and yet still fully capable of life genesis in the beginning. His ability to make life cannot be dependent on the presence of another being, otherwise he would not be God. He would be human, his range of choices shackled to that separate mind and body that is not his own and can refuse him. There must be no viable opposition, and when Kain had dipped his hands into the Underworld and snared the souls of his offspring, there had been none. From emptiness he had brought forth life, and each of his young godlings had stepped out upon the world to repeat the procedure. But it had all started with Kain. They could not have been reborn without him, and he had neither needed nor sought any permission to render this miracle into being. Alone, he had orchestrated the creation of the world. He had not required those specific six children, it could have been anyone. But he had made that choice, as God. He had that power. The humans, once the finest example of intelligent life on this planet, were now reduced to cattle. All plant-life, and consequently the vast majority of animal species, had perished from the dry face of Nosgoth by his decisions. He was the sole undying creator of the world and the greatest of its inhabitants. He was immortal! By his whim, life was created or destroyed, without consideration of others, and therefore he must be God! It was undeniable! KAIN WAS GOD!

And yet not totally.

He had power, yes, and the ability to make the best of choices for the benefit of his people. But were they not still chained? A vampire fledgling requires blood, preferably human, to reach its exalted state of maturity. Afterwards the necessity is not so great, but still, they are damnably linked to humans for food, and so for them to survive, they must bow to animal need and keep the humans alive. Alive in a denigrated position, but still alive, damn it all! Vampires, paradoxically, cannot exist without their inferiors, and this infuriated Kain, for while this weakness continued, they were still as incomplete as any human, and he himself was forced to make choices that did not suit his own desires. Rules not of his making still applied to his decisions. His will was not Fate, that was maddening! Who had made these rules, and when, and why must he be relegated by them, Kain had demanded of himself?!

Now Kain knew. He knew exactly what he had to do to make his people gods, with himself above them forever.

It was his fate to come this far. Kain admitted that he had no control over that. Perhaps what he had considered a simple matter of choice was really a predetermined stamp on his mind and soul. That was the agony of Fate. And yet, had he not already scored a major victory against that fathomless power? By reviving the spirits of the dead within undying flesh, the tapestry of Fate had been deprived of its basic working material, that being the souls of Nosgoth. Granted, he had not destroyed their presupposed destinies utterly, but he had at least given the hand of Fate pause. While the world remained static like this, frozen in place and rupturing from thwarted movement, could not a being of sufficient strength and knowledge play his hand and wrest control from the nameless force that had so far exercised its ultimate power unchallenged? Clearly it feared him. That was why Raziel had been reborn, invested with unearthly might and goaded to slay his Father and lay waste to his empire. The hidden soul of Fate had thought this to be the perfect solution to the vampire dilemma. Once Kain and his Dynasty were destroyed, Fate could pick right up where it left off as if nothing had happened. What matter the loss of a few millennia of time, when all eternity was available to it to correct any errors? It must have seemed an irresistibly ironic plan. But soon even Fate would bow to the will of Kain. It had unwittingly given him the one thing he could not supply for himself, the one thing he needed to triumph. The thought of this touched his cold heart, pleased him immensely. As a token demonstration of his soon-to-be superiority, he spoke the words that destiny had never allowed him to say before.

"I love you, Turel, my son," he said with satisfaction.

And that was all. His ascension could not be prevented. Each of his children had played their part in his grand scheme. Only Raziel's duties remained unfinished, and his approach was not far off. Kain could feel him even now.

"Ever the stalwart pawn of a greater power, Raziel," Kain murmured to himself. "The Sarafan, myself, Ariel and your 'Elder,' and now myself again. Whether you ken it or no, I have you under my thumb, because that is where you are content to be. You and all the rest. Only I am willing to slave for no one, not even Fate."

Did Raziel truly believe that he could kill his Father? What then, Raziel? Destroy the rest of the clans, meekly give this planet back to the remaining pitiful humans to rule, and retreat into the Spectral Realm to mope for all eternity? Is that what you call justice? If that were the case, it would have been better to let Turel murder them all and leave Nosgoth to float as deadweight on the tides of fate. But Kain would see that neither of those futures would be allowed, and the sacrifice of his children was what would enable it. He had no misgivings. He, Kain, had existed before without them, and he would continue to exist now with their passing. He had given his sons, even Turel, as much time and concern as was fitting for a God. That part of his life was now over. A new generation awaited him. Kain was eager for it.

"Let destiny's ties slip from your limbs, Raziel, to be replaced with reins of my own devising. Come to me, Reaver of Souls, and inaugurate, for all the universe to see, the true legacy of Kain!"

The God of Nosgoth laughed with pleasure, and once again began his work.

_FIN_


End file.
